#i could theoretically teach the mechanics of most of gods

[mamawasatesttube]

YJ all living in the same dorm/frat house in college would be amazing. What do you think everyone’s majors/clubs/athletics would be?

assuming this is still like... main universe-adjacent and they all still have powers etc. yknow i think cassie has a giant existential crisis because she doesn't know what she's gonna do with her life other than be wonder girl and that will NOT fly with her mom bc helena absolutely wants her to have a normal life as much as she can. late-night conversations at the kitchen counter where she confides that she has no idea what she wants to do and helena sits with her and tells her she has time but she does expect her to go to college and do something, even if she doesn't have to have it all figured out right yet. all of this to say i think cassie goes in undeclared. also i think she should be on the volleyball team.

tim in college is smth i was actually talking abt with moss and britta just the other day. he of course is an insane engineering major who skateboards to class with a naruto-themed energy drink in hand only to fall asleep there 14 minutes into the lecture. also he's wearing a blazer and formal shorts bc he's like I Am Getting A Good Grade In Presentable Student :) and theres just something wrong with him. he has to join an engineering student study group bc its the only thing that actually gets him to bother doing his homework even if hes a whiz at the actual content. hes a disaster but he cant drop out he wants to hang with his besties plus lucius was like listen you can work at WE r&d and tinker with shit to your heart's desire but you do need at least a bachelor's of mechanical engineering to do that even if i know you know your stuff. and tim was like well i guess that's fair :/ hey squad i can sugar daddy us an apartment near met u lets all get an education

kon... well i think he also has a crisis (see also: sotm) but eventually i do like him going into teaching or stuff with kids in general. im always bouncing btwn him being a childrens librarian or a high school biology teacher. he WILL tell all these kids about star trek or so help him god. i feel like he wouldn't really go for most athletics bc he'd be too worried about making sure he doesn't excel too unnaturally BUT just for me, i think he and bart should join the ballroom dance team together. i think they would have so much fun doing jive in particular

as for bart. well the thing about bart is that he could literally do anything he wants to? the real question is what subject would hold his attention consistently over several years. i think the answer is either computer science or theoretical physics. possibly both i think he might double major. he's also terrible at remembering to do his homework etc but he flies through it when he bothers to. and he and kon join the ballroom team together :)!!!

[why-bless-your-heart]

Dumb Protastant Question #5

Also a theoretical scifi world building question.

So a random half-formed thought popped up as I am vaugely aware that you can't/shouldn't do confession via electronic means.

And then my scifi author brain popped up and demanded but what about AI parishioners without corporial bodies? If you can't do electronic confessions than how are good Catholic AI going to do confession?

And then I started thinking, okay, we are still a long way from that, but supposing that we as a culture actually get to that point where we are seriously considering granting human rights to AI? What about when the question of AI souls acutally comes up?

And I started wondering from a world building perspective, how is that going to be handled? Like is that a college of Cardnials type thing? How much of a say does a Pope have? What woudl happen if indivdual priests start treating AI like humans before the official decision is made? Is there an existing structure that could be applied to to determine when AI have souls and if they do how they would confess, or would one need to be created from whol(y) cloth?

Surely Catholic Scifi authors have thought of this...

Anyway so yes, what structure of the Catholic Church would be tasked with determining if sufficently advanced AI have souls that need confession?

Okay so basically humans are body and soul combined. That’s why the resurrection of the body is so important, and also why the sacraments are so vital to Catholic life. What you do with your body affects your soul, which is the whole concept of sin. So from right off the bat, since an AI doesn’t have a body, it’s not considered human and isn’t included in the New Covenant. If you don’t have a body you can’t receive the sacraments. (Sorry).

Putting that aside, when it comes to the spiritual side of humans there’s the soul, and then there’s the mind, which includes the will, the intellect, and the passions. A sufficiently advanced AI could be said to have a mind, insofar as it imitates the functions of will, intellect, and passions, but the mind does not beget the soul anymore than the disintegration of the mind negates the soul (c.f. cases of mental illness or senility). The most generous that could be said is that the machine/program is ensouled the same way that an animal is ensouled with an animal soul, or a plant with a plant soul: it is alive and a part of God’s creation with its own end, and a good in itself, but it still doesn’t have a human soul. The only way you get one of those is by having human parents. (Human cloning is a deep sin against God and His creation, but a clone would still have a soul.)

The whole point of the sacraments is that participating in them is how you participate in the life of Christ. Christ was fully God and fully Man, so by participating in His life we share in the life of God, which makes us fit for Heaven. We’re only able to participate in the sacraments in the first place because of Christ’s incarnation, because He became Man and represented us in the New Covenant. An AI just doesn’t have a representative at the table.

Now, as far as the actual mechanics of church hierarchy. The Catholic Church has a very strict top-down model (Pope -> Bishops -> Priests -> religious/lay), but vox populi (voice of the people) has historically been recognized as an important aspect of Catholicism as well. Usually you’ll have a bunch of lay theologians and priests and bishops discussing an issue on their own back and forth, arriving on a general consensus on what it is that Catholicism teaches on the issue. They’ll appeal to scripture and Church teachings over centuries to build their arguments. It’s usually the fastest response to any new question, but also the most likely to entail a lot of confusion and mistakes. In the US during the 1950s this kind of discussion ended with a lot of people thinking that artificial birth control was permissible under Church doctrine until the encyclical Humanae Vitae (Human Life) was sent out by Pope Paul VI. Depending on how pressing a matter the Pope considers the issue (and depending on whether or not individual priests are starting to try to give the sacraments to AI), he may issue a Papal Edict (a letter saying ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’), write an encyclical (a letter to instruct the bishops), or call an ecumenical council for all the bishops to come and discuss the matter together. It’s really up to him. You could have a very quick, passionate, involved pope who slams out an edict the minute he hears that somebody in a sleepy one-horse parish in the left-hand corner in Azerbaijan asked a priest if he could conditionally baptize their AI, or you could have a cautious, thoughtful, hands-off pope who waits 40 years to hear all sides before he calls a three-year council to hammer out the question.

So to sum up in answer to your questions. 1. It depends on the specific circumstances how it’s going to be handled. 2. No, it wouldn’t really be a college of cardinals type thing. Cardinals are just bishops who the pope picks to have a more involved advisory role, and a number of them are also included in the papal conclave to elect new popes. 3. The pope has final say. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he has first say. 4. If individual priests started treating AI like humans before the decision was made they’d most likely be rebuked by their bishops. If they persisted, they could risk being defrocked, which doesn’t undo ordination but does mean that they no longer have permission to administer the sacraments. 5. The existing structure is just the current hierarchy of the church.

Hope this helps and/or gives you some new ideas!

[the-owlbear-outpost]

Playing D&D for the First Time? Here's Some Advice for New Players!

So... Dungeons & Dragons. Not that long ago, it was something most people didn't really think about. If they did, impressions tended to vary between "That super complicated nerd game from the 1980s" and "Satan's favorite board game". What I'm saying is, it wasn't exactly great at capturing the hearts and minds of the people.

But all that isn't necessarily true anymore. The times are a-changin', and D&D doesn't have the inscrutable reputation it once did. In fact, it's more popular now than it ever was in its hayday. With the recent popularity boom, there are tons of people interested in trying the game for the first time. You might even be one of them! And if that's the case, you may also not be quite sure what to expect.

It wasn't too long ago that I started playing myself... and there's a lot I learned since then would have saved me a lot of time and effort if I'd discovered it a little earlier. And I don't mean stuff like how to master the game's mechanics, building an optimal character, etc. There are other people out there that are way better at teaching that. I'm talking about smaller, less tangible things, the kind of stuff that isn't really talked about as often.

If you're interested in playing the game, here are some tips from a grizzled veteran that might improve your first D&D experience.

Don't Sweat Over the Rules of the Game.

These days, one of the biggest things keeping new players away from Dungeons & Dragons is its reputation for... complexity. I hear that a lot whenever I talk to others about the game: "It sounds fun, but it just has so many rules! There's no way I could keep track of it all."

And to be fair, it is true that the mechanics of D&D can appear to be a bit much. This is a game where you can theoretically do almost anything, but that comes with the downside of creating rules broad enough to govern almost anything. That's a lot of ground to cover, and that's reflected in the size of the rulebook. I know that when I went to buy my first copy of the Player's Handbook and saw a book so thick I could probably kill a man with it, I had second thoughts about whether this was the game for me.

But those anxieties disappeared once I actually started playing. Because here's the thing: Despite the doorstopper of a rulebook, the game is weirdly simple once you sit down and play it. The game's most recent edition was designed with newcomers in mind, and because of that it's extremely easy to learn on the fly. In my current D&D group, more than half of the players are new, and they all had a pretty firm grasp on it by the end of their first session.

It also helps that the vast majority of the game's rules is designed to be easily customizable or even flat-out ignored if they're getting in the way of the fun. So if there is some specific mechanic that you having trouble grasping, the group can just choose to work around it.

The rules can be a little intimidating, but just go with the flow and you'll do fine. Promise.

Sharing Is Caring

Between the books, dice sets, miniatures, snacks to bribe the DM with, etc., buying everything you need to play D&D can be expensive. Not Warhammer expensive, gods forbid, but if you splurge on all the bells and whistles you could be out a couple hundred bucks.

But do you know what isn't expensive? Teamwork.

Remember, you're not playing this game alone. Did you forget your dice at home, or not have enough money to buy your own copy of the Player's Handbook? Don't hesitate to double up with other players when necessary. And if you don't have those problems, bringing a few extra supplies in case someone needs them is going to make you very popular very quickly.

Don't just have your party's back in the game itself, have their back outside the game as well! Pooling resources can save your whole group a ton of time and effort (and money) in the long run.

Clear Communication Is Key

On a similar note: Don't be afraid to speak up if there's something that's making the game unfun for you.

No group is in complete sync with each other at all times. Sometimes, usually without even realizing it, another player can bring the game down a path you find uncomfortable. Someone might be making off-color jokes you find distressing, or an argument about gameplay tactics might get out of hand, or a fun roleplaying scene you were really enjoying gets rudely interrupted... these things happen. And if they're ruining the experience for you, you're under no obligation to just sit there and bear it.

If you have these issues, don't be afraid to let the rest of the group know. In my experience, almost everyone I've ever played with has been willing to adjust their behavior if someone lets them know they're crossing a line. And if you're unlucky enough to have a group that doesn't... it's best to just get out of there as soon as possible. Trust me on this.

Regardless, it's a bad idea to let these things fester. It can be tempting to stay silent because you don't want to rock the boat, but these kinds of things tend to get worse with time, not better. Politely (but firmly) establishing clear boundaries is the best way to disarm group conflicts before they develop into major problems.

Don't Be Afraid to Think Outside the Box!

This last one is essential, and yet tragically it's all too frequently forgotten. A lot of new players (and even some experienced ones) sometimes forget just how open-ended D&D is, which is understandable. Most forms of interactive media have limitations. If you play a video game your actions are limited by the game's programming, and if you read one of those old "choose your own adventure" books the outcome is restricted by the words on the page.

Tabletop gaming isn't like that. Here, the only fundamental limit is your imagination.

Now don't get me wrong here, not every wacky idea you have is going to get the DM's seal of approval. It's their job to make sure the game stays doesn't get completely unbalanced, and often that means vetoing ideas that stray too far from the game's actual rules. Do that, and you risk stripping away all of the game's challenge, which can ironically lead to a very boring experience.

But speaking as a DM myself... it never hurts to ask. I love it when the players in my group suggest some totally unorthodox idea that isn't covered by the rules. Some of the coolest moments in my campaigns have happened because a player found an unintended use for a spell or a creative way to exploit the environment. As long as the suggestion is reasonable (or in other words, not insanely overpowered), I think it's always a good idea to work with the players and find some way to make their idea work mechanically.

Maybe not all DMs are as flighty with the rules as I am, but you'd be surprised what kind of cool stuff you might be able to pull off if you only ask. So if you've got a cool idea that isn't covered in the Player's Handbook, don't keep it to yourself! Talk to the group about it and see if you can put that idea into action.

To bring all of this home: Dungeons & Dragons can be a tad complicated, but don't let that stop you! D&D is a fantastic and very unique game; in all my years of gaming, I've never played anything else quite like it. If you give it a go, I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Good luck!

[vespertine-legacy]

I got to lead an ops today!

Someone in endgame wanted to know if some gracious soul was willing to lead their group through Temple of Sacrifice, so I whispered them to ask what role they needed and let them know that I could probably lead a group through it (I’ve never been an official ops lead, and I have done every story mode operation from every role, so I theoretically know all of the perspectives/mechanics, but I haven’t really had to explain them).

They needed a dps, so I brought Kestrel along, and by the time I got into the group, it had turned into also TC and Hive. Both of those went fine, but then the group member who had recruited me went afk right before we queued to actually run ToS, and we failed the ready. Which locked our group into the queue with only him able to decline. Technical difficulties ensued, but once he got back we were able to get it worked out.

Overall, ToS went very well! We had a weird glitch feature on Malaphar where after he died, we got one last set of adds. Sword Squadron went perfectly--like, I had never seen them go down more perfectly in terms of their percentages, no one went near the trail the tank on Walker 1 was leaving, no one exploded a grenade on the group, perfect. The Underlurker jumped too close to the wall and made us fail the cross a couple of times (but dps was high enough and healing was good enough that we did fine). The Revanite Commanders did their “are they or aren’t they down?” game. The main tank refused to point Revan’s attack at the pillars on the first floor because “you don’t have to in SM” (okay, but that’s the easiest way to keep the dps from getting their faces cleaved off, but you do you I guess?), but otherwise, folks did really well on the first and second floor. Third floor was a little rough with the aberrations and folks wanting to stand in the pretty purple circles, but otherwise, things went fine.

They thanked me for leading them through, and I told them to let me know if there were other things I could help them with.

“It’s funny you should ask. Wanna teach us Gods?”

Edited to add:

I forgot that during the Revanite Commanders, when they all three came down, I got Sano’s attention, but ended up with also the attention of two of the adds that do conal attacks and one of the adds that drops an orange circle, so I was just like, “oof, sorry healers, I’m standing in like seven stupid things right now.” @astrifer-bound was walking by and just started laughing their ass off, so I added, “and you should know my wife is cackling at my stupidity now.”

Also asked the tank who had Kurse how he was doing while we were finishing off Deron, and the response was, “ah, it’s fine, he hits like a kitten.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

Can we get a reimagining for golems pleas? They’re somewhat problematic in their current portrayal when you consider the mythological origins

Monsters Reimagined: Golems

For those not in the know, there was a discourse a little while ago about how golems and how their use in pop fantasy diverged from their origins as a part of Jewish folklore. While there’s different arguments to be made about whether you should use creatures from the folklore of other cultures (verging onto appropriation) most of the discussion I saw revolved around the fact that golems in d&d (and the fantasy genre that imitated it) bear little resemblance to their mythological roots, flattening a creature with rich cultural connections into just another brainless monster to be flattened by adventurers.

That said, humans have been imagining stories about artificial people for as long as we’ve been building things with our own hands, and just because we don’t use the name “golem” doesn’t mean we have to abandon the concept entirely.  TLDR:  While you could just default to calling them “constructs” as many have, I like to use the term “Malgam” for my artificially constructed servitor monsters. Not only does it relate to their nature as an amalgamation of particular elements, it also has the same mouthfeel as the original monster. This also lets you use “golem” in the specific context for the creature it was intended: An artificial creature given life through the working of holy scholars, in imitation of the way that the creator gave life to them.

There have always been stories of artificial beings: and in many ways the origin myths of most cultures have humans crafted by the gods out of something inanimate, which could theoretically classify all humans as something given form by the hands of another.

As someone with a childhood fascination with both robots and greek mythology, it blew my mind that accounts of the god Hephaestus had him assisted by mechanical beings. Despite the fact that the ancient greeks were living in the bronze age, they still had enough of an understanding of machinery to think “ yep, get good enough at this sorta thing and you could make people”

Golems are part of this tradition, but take on a particularly religious aspect in that it’s animation echoes gods own creation of humans, imperfect as all mortal attempts must be in comparison with their creator. Many golem myths likewise get into power hierarchies, as those golems that were not built for defence are often built to perform labour for their creators, growing rebellious and subverting the divine hierarchy

Logically then, if we’re going to write adventures ABOUT golems, we should do so through the examination of the creator gods, worshippers, and the things they both make, as well as how the relationships between them can reveal about our philosophy as an audience:

Through careful study of the teachings of his creation goddess, a sage has created a golem to act as his apprentice, seeking a blank and willing vessel to fill up with the purest form of her faith and knowledge without all the base humanity getting in the way. The golem turns out to be a prodigy, but over years of instruction the sage comes to care for them as one might a child, believing them to be just as ensouled as a person. The golem, pious to a fault, knows that it would be blasphamy for their instructor to claim powers equal to that of the goddess and denies the claim, causing a rift to form between them. Now the two wander the great temples and libraries of the land, searching for the proof that will

Brought to life by a miracle of Moradin, a tremendously strong golem has guarded a particular village for generations, dispatching monsters and raiders, throwing itself into danger to rescue those who dwell within the town, drawn to where it can help best by a divinely gifted sixth sense. The party just so happen to be in town when it rises from it’s traditional seat of honor before the steps of the village temple, takes seven long strides, and brings its fist down on a stupefied merchant, who’d just arrived in town. The townsfolk are divided, did their protector go mad, or did its orders to kill come directly from the allhammer himself? The merchants travelling companions are demanding retribution, while the golem returns to its seat and merely shrugs. Its role is not to question what it does, only to protect the village when it is called to do so.

on the trail of a diabolist who’s tortured priests and robbed monasteries, the party has finally realized that their foe intends to scorn the gods by creating a more perfect form of being than they ever could, and has been extracting the secrets of lifeweaving over many bloody years. Catching up to the villain in his lair, the party is aghast to discover that he has succeeded: using foul magic to birth a “perfect” specimen who quickly concluded that her creator was unfit for his position of power over her and tore him limb from limb. Now the party is faced with a very different sort of challenge: a superhuman entity who wishes to understand her place in the world but who has yet to be taught any reason why she should care about other beings beyond their usefulness to her.  

Refocusing goelms in this way as a type of construct rather than the brand-name for lumbering animated statues lets us pay proper respect to their folkloric roots, while also giving us a new tool in our narrative toolbox in order to tell more diverse and insightful stories.

Art

[rebelsandtherest]

ok so like i was thinking and america is very science adjacent. so i was wondering if sometimes he goes on these scientific rants and like do older nations just smile and nod? like i know for awhile that france was like the head of science internationally.

but like i can only imagine if he just went on a long science rant with like france or england maybe… they’d just have to grin and bear it.

It highly depends on what kind of science and who the other nation is. Both Francis and Arthur are intellectuals in their own ways, and are both, to a certain point, interested in science. They aren't the "nerdy" sort of science enthusiast that Alfred is, but they love a good rousing discussion on certain topics now and again. However, their preferred topics are fairly straightforward; advances in mechanical engineering, locomotion, etc. Francis is especially fond of all the flashy experiments used in classes to demonstrate scientific laws or principles. Arthur usually becomes a bit preoccupied regaling the youth with rose-tinted tales of the Industrial Revolution. Neither Francis nor Arthur are incredibly invested in earth or life sciences, but will listen and be happy to learn the latest developments from Alfred's ramblings.

However. There comes a point where the eyes glaze over and they nod along, barely withholding the "oh my god Alfred no one cares"—and to be fair, that sometimes slips out too. Astrophysics, theoretical math, atomic physics, quantum theory, and anything having to do with computer technology is where they begin to tune out.

Other older nations are far more likely to meet Alfred in the middle and keep up with his knowledge and enthusiasm. China will certainly meet Alfred's knowledge in most things, but they'll usually end up arguing about something. South Korea absolutely matches Alfred's energy 100%, and even if they start talking about wildly untested theories that only one of them partially understands, they're both having a great time so no need to spoil their fun. India likes discussing science and engineering—particularly aerospace engineering—with Alfred, but often finds him a tiring conversationalist because he tends to bounce from idea to idea without pausing to diver deeper into India's interests, leaving the poor guy with a headache by the time Alfred lets him get a word in edgewise.

The two older nations I think are most receptive to Alfred's ramblings (like, just willing to sit there and listen and occasionally engage when Alfred possibly, hopefully pauses for breath) are Japan and, hear me out, Scotland.

Kiku is and always been an extremely shrewd handler of Alfred, and will happily let the American go off on longwinded tangents, biding his time to speak up so he can direct the trajectory of their discussion into something he is most interested in, allowing Alfred to think it was his idea. That being said, very often they reach a point of mutual interest, and rather than stop him, Kiku starts rambling right back at him, which Alfred does back to him, and so forth, and next thing you know, they're building an honest to god flying car in Alfred's backyard and shhh don't tell the FAA, it's fine, what's the worst that could happen? This is a telecom deadzone, how're they gonna know?

Alisdair is by and large a listener, and he often doesn't fully understand the more digital or theoretical sciences. For Alisdair, half of the enjoyment of listening to Alfred ramble about science is about just how much it lights up his face, how enthused and in love with the scientific world he is. Scotland was and still is in many ways the scientific heart of Britain's intellectuality, and amongst the Kirkland orbit, Alisdair was, until Alfred came along, very much the one in the family most susceptible to long rants about science. His key interests are in medicine, geology, geography, chemistry, and life sciences, but he'll listen to just about anything so long as it's told with enthusiasm. He likes teaching Alfred about the scientific history he's too young to remember, and he likes learning cutting edge developments in his favorite fields that Alfred happened to hear about before him. It's a very "mentor nerd and baby genius nerd" relationship between the two of them. Alfred loves taking Alisdair on hikes, because between the two of them, they can identify just about every flora, fauna, and geology they find.

[no6secretsanta]

Gala Grind

WOO SECRET SANTA! 

@allxkka this is for you! YOU ASKED FOR AN AU, high school, college, or theater and well, THIS HAPPENED. All three of those things get mentioned in this fic? So… : ) Hope you enjoy.

(should be up on my archive by now, if it isn’t, it will be shortly)

---

Hours earlier, Nezumi had watched as the average hotel lobby transformed into an expensive-looking Gala hall, courtesy of staff members with dead eyes. At the time, he’d found it impressive, the way the white cloth tables, goody-bags, and endless floral arrangements were able to grant the blank room a weighted sort of potential energy.  

Now, though, he was confident that he had only watched the room go from one form of emptiness to another. Goody-bags were swept under chairs in an unending flood of expensive champagne and cheap conversation. Nezumi could feel the flowers wilting.  

“What’s the name of this company anyway?” he asked the man sitting across from him. The placard at his seat read: “Yoming”.

“Civitas Rosis. You don’t know of us?” Yoming replied. As he spoke a shiny gold watch on his wrist caught the light.

Nezumi’s finger traced the rim of his champagne glass - of course it was empty, now when he needed it most. “I’m a plus-one,” he said. “Guest of a guest. That is quite a name." 

"It’s Latin. The title is from one of our parent companies we outgrew,” Yoming said, with the air of a proud conqueror. “The taking of their title was a sort of symbolic representation of our independence. We’re the kind of place that never forgets the little steps that helped us get where we are.”

“Oh, I see. A real rags-to-riches Cinderella story.”

“We consider it more David and Goliath,” Yoming said, dark eyes glinting. Nezumi envisioned a future where he strangled him with his necktie, unbuckled the watch from his wrist, and pawned it off for a lifetime supply of macaroons. It was a bright future.

“Of course,” Nezumi drawled. “Although…in this David and Goliath story David would have to put on Goliath’s skin after he took him down. A little too graphic to market, don’t you think?”

The businessman fluffed up like an offended bird. “What did you say your name was?”

“My name? Rikiga,” Nezumi simpered, and then flashed his teeth. “Most sincere apologies. Are you always so defensive or did you steal that from your dead parent company too?”

The silence between them stretched for a full minute - not that anyone could tell over the boot-licking and networking chatter that filled the rest of the dining area. 

“Who are you guest of?” Yoming asked, slowly.

The caterer, Nezumi thought, but he wasn’t about to get Shion into trouble with his millionaire undercover boss. He pointed blindly at the name plaque next to him. Yoming’s face scrunched.

“Tori, I should have known.”

Nezumi had no idea who this Tori was, but he felt a fleeting sort of guilt for the resigned way Yoming said his name, and the speed at which he stood.

“Good day, Mr. Rikiga,” Yoming said in a tone of voice that made it abundantly clear nothing good was about to happen.

“A pleasure meeting you!" 

Yoming was dialing a number on his cellphone with frightening speed as he ducked out of the room. Poor Tori.

Oh well. It was time to leave that table anyway. First though…

The goody-bags were mostly filled with useless nonsense: Business cards and Civitas Rosis plastic shot glasses and salt-shakers, but there was a gem at the bottom. Nezumi dumped the junk into Tori’s abandoned bag, but rescued the carefully-wrapped bag of cookies and a card to Karan’s bakery - painfully sincere amongst all the company-labelled knick-knacks and trappings. 

Like a certain someone.

Nezumi exhaled. He probably shouldn’t have picked a fight. He hoped this minor tiff wouldn’t reflect negatively on Karan and Shion’s impeccable skills and service. He popped one of the cookies in his mouth, chewed.

"Nezumi!”

Shion. He was clumsily weaving through the tables - balm to Nezumi’s exhausted soul, relentlessly appealing in his all-black formal catering uniform.

“You look nice,” Nezumi swallowed appreciatively, before popping another cookie in his mouth, looking him up and down.

Flattery and exhaustion warred on Shion’s face. He pulled out the seat next to Nezumi, but then pushed it back in, evidently, deciding standing would be better.

“Something to say, Shion?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Shion said.

He held Nezumi’s hand in both of his. Nezumi stopped chewing.

 —

“Please Nezumi, their singer is sick!” Shion grumbled, following Nezumi into the bathroom so they could keep the conversation private. “They need someone to sing a few songs and say just a few nice things about the company and I know you’ve done galas before—hey. Don’t look like that. You have the training for this!” 

“I dropped out, Shion,” Nezumi replied, colder than he meant to be.

Training was a bit of a trigger word if he was being completely honest. As a proud college dropout, he had recently come to terms with the fact that the best thing his stint in academia had given him was ecologist-turned-caterer Shion.

Shion was not deterred. He shook his head, quickly slipping an OUT OF ORDER sign onto the door to the men’s bathroom.

“Listen to me—"

“—Why are you carrying that?” Nezumi asked, temporarily distracted.

“Sometimes caterers need some time alone,” Shion clarified without hesitation. “I’m not giving up on this. You’re the only one who can do this Nezumi, and your voice is beautiful. You have soul. That’s all an audience needs. A diploma doesn’t matter— You taught me that.”

Ugh, Nezumi had. Theoretically. Shion had been miserable in grad school, signing up for all the most difficult labs to challenge his own brilliant mind. It had been a mistake. A brilliant mind wasn’t what his professors wanted— cutting corners was, and Shion wasn’t going to do that.

Shion had dropped first. A month later, Nezumi made the same call, but for very different reasons.

Pursuing a degree in theater, in all honesty, had been a mistake.

His heart had wanted it, though. Nezumi’s stupid heart, still beating, ever-longing, ready to make important life decisions with the loudest possible voice no matter how deeply he buried it in his chest. His heart had won him over during the lonely years after high school— singing in bars for tips. It had convinced him that with education maybe that could be a job—his full-time job. A job where he wouldn’t have to scrape by and beg.

So, he had saved. He had saved and he paid for some classes. An education. Rags-to-riches, right?

As it turned out, Nezumi paid a lot for academia to teach his heart what his head knew already: love was disappointing. Love didn’t fill your stomach, or your pockets. Love left you with debt—left you with dreams. Singing wasn’t a career—it was a survival mechanism.

So yeah, he didn’t much like to be reminded of his training. He didn’t particularly like to be reminded of his soul, either.

“Shion—” he started, but Shion kissed him before he could finish, pressing him gently into the wall of the nice hotel bathroom. His heart took over— no more thoughts— as he wrapped his arms around Shion’s shoulders and felt the fabric of his stupid hot catering uniform. Warm. Shion was so fucking warm, all the time.

He had just about forgotten what they were talking about when Shion broke away, eyes impossibly bright.

“I know you,” he whispered, voice low and urgent enough to send a tiny, tiny tremor down Nezumi’s spine. “I know you, Nezumi, and you love to perform. Why are you resisting? What’s holding you back? Let me help.”

His hand was on Nezumi’s cheek, and Nezumi felt his resolve crumble.

Dammit. Damn him. Damn this. Damn the excitement in Nezumi’s veins, the stupid thrilling call of the stage. Damn this man, this infuriating, wonderful man that knew Nezumi’s stupid, stupid, stupid, theatrical heart.

“I’ll sing, Shion,” he said, finally, meeting the torrent that was Shion’s eyes. “I just can’t promise any miracles. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m not asking for miracles, Nezumi,” Shion replied, grinning victoriously. His lips were red; his cheeks appealingly flushed. “Just you. Just your voice. That’s always been enough, you know.”

Nezumi’s heart may have lost when it came to his college education, but with Shion…Well. Maybe the debt was worth it.

—-

Nezumi stood in front of the crowd, microphone in hand. His set list and suggested script sat on a music stand in a black binder. No one would have to know there was actually no paper in the binder, but rather that everything had been hastily scrawled on a napkin by the company treasurer.

Nezumi tapped the microphone once. Feedback echoed through the gala hall, but hey, it caught everyone’s attention so mission accomplished.

“Having fun tonight?” he offered to the stuffy suits and ties. He was rewarded with polite applause.

God, Nezumi thought. Sounds like a fucking golf game. He almost missed the constant cat-calls of his bar. Almost.

His heart was beating though, thudding in a way that clearly never got the message this was stupid and pointless. His eyes scanned the crowd and found Karan and Shion at their modest table in the back. He smiled, for them, slipping into the role of gala MC.

Shion really did look great in that uniform.

“Let’s give another round of applause for our lovely host Civitas Rosis — long may they reign!”

The sarcasm didn’t slip through to his voice but judging by the rewarding scowl on Yoming’s face and the expanding smile on Shion’s— it was understood by the parties that needed to hear it.

Shion, to Nezumi’s surprise and delight, couldn’t stand Yoming either. He had apparently been flirting at Karan for almost the entire party, and Shion, for all his gullibility, had a bullshit detector that could rival Nezumi’s. When he had heard about Nezumi’s earlier argument, seconds before Nezumi was shoved to the stage, his face had changed. There was a rare, vengeful glint in his eyes as he whispered: Honestly, I’m glad you did— now maybe I’ll be able to resist arguing with him, myself. Maybe.

Fuck, Nezumi loved him.

It was a stray thought, but a true one, and one Nezumi didn’t have time to over-consider as he picked up the mic and began to sing, voice echoing through the lobby.

Yoming, pleasingly, had a deep scowl on his face, but Karan was mouthing the words next to him. Yeah that wouldn’t last.

Nezumi’s life hadn’t really gone according to plan.

He was a college drop-out singing in a hotel lobby that meant nothing to him, and for a company he couldn’t stand.

But still, he smiled as he sang. It wasn’t to survive— wasn’t for an ill-advised money-making dream, but for the caterer watching with enamored eyes in the back of the room.

It was fun. His heart pulsed in his chest, poor, but satisfied.

It was his best performance yet.

[wumblr]

This is a vague ask so take it whichever direction you want, and you may have already written about this, but what do you think about the theories that quantum physics plays a role in the phenomenon of consciousness?

do you mean like, quantum neurology? i think the best theory is probably going to be more cellular or chemical in scale. i don’t think you need quantum uncertainty to have choice... tipping points, chaotic systems, and critical states exist at the macro scale and can be described classically, so any contributions from atomic or quantum scales will probably be minimal at best

like, yeah, a map of every atom in the brain would help, and probably likewise for the quantum scale -- but you can still harness electricity before you have a complete theory. atomic chemistry is strictly speaking always more accurate, but for many chemical interactions you just don't need that much granularity or information 

i could easily be wrong about this (there could be some fundamentally quantum mechanical feature to the mind) and i also think it’s maybe not what you’re asking (?)

if you mean the other way around (consciouness influences quantum mechanics) these theories are currently making me want to rip my hair out on tiktok OH MY GOD. i’m probably remiss to criticize anybody because i know how hard it is to self teach physics, but this might be the most divorced-from-reality possible variation on anthropocentrism. isn’t the logical conclusion of the theory that the universe couldn’t exist before consciousness could perceive it? classical mechanics operate as a collective average on top of quantum mechanics no matter which interpretation you take. if the observer effect was literally real, then the results of experiments would have changed in response to the development of the theory

the thing that bothers me about it not that it exists as a theory, it’s the way it influences the behavior of the people who philosophically adopt it. it regresses your perspective back to a pre-copernican, worse-than-geocentric universe where you are literally at the center, and everything you perceive and do matters for the future of everything else in the universe. yikes! how do y’all live like this lmao! please stop making philosophy out of statistics!

i think there are a couple of errors in thinking that play into this: 1) the assumption that because we have an incomplete understanding of neurology and physics, or because their loose ends bear similarities, they must be related and interacting, 2) the implication that because something is complex, it's deep or profound, and 3) the existence of a theoretical construct does not imply it’s literally real. a theory being possible is not the same as being proven (these might seem obvious but like, even outside of metaphysical misinterpretations, plenty of real physicists still fall for these w/r/t naturalness and beauty)

really the only advice i ever have is “try material/instrumental experimentalism.” it doesn’t really do anything except force you to hone in on tangible questions (what predictions does the theory make and what instruments do we need to build to test it?), but this is almost always the domain of science where progress actually occurs, so... like seriously, i cannot count the number of times this has allowed me to completely, i don’t know, peel the whole lemon in four seconds flat, so to speak, and get right to the sour, sour meat of the problem, both scientifically and philosophically

like i'm not trying to discourage anybody from investigating anything or trying on weird different cosmic beliefs like they're different hats (because how else would you know whether an idea is any good or not?), and one particularly nice thing about instrumentalism is that it lets you believe whatever you want about paradoxes and things outside the effective scale and domain of inquiry, you don't have to stop asking these questions while it points you towards more tangible concerns -- but hopefully it's obvious that there's a particular type of taking-one-thing-too-far that bothers me here... read about supersymmetry or try to visualize higher dimensions all you want, please, it's wacky and thrilling, but don't try to give people life coaching advice based on believing it's literally real

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

How to Destroy Your Enemies and Influence People

Speculations on my favorite baddie: part 2

One of my favorite things about the Akallabeth is that the thing that Ar-Pharazon wants more than any other—the get-out-of-death-free card—is something Sauron could—in a sense—have given him.

But he doesn’t.

The Seven and Nine don’t really grant immortality to Men, of course;(1) they just stretch you out to infinity, and if Sauron isn’t completely mad at this point, he knows this. But we know Men in general and Numenorean royalty in particular are especially susceptible to the promise of power and life granted by the Rings, and Pharazon seems an exemplary specimen of these human failings. I have to imagine he would have leaped at the opportunity. Theoretically, Sauron could have given him a Ring and had him under his control easily.(2)

But he doesn’t.

Now, the story that would be called “Akallabeth” was mapped out long before there were Rings of Power. It was likely the first hint of anything beyond the First Age. The introduction of the Rings (and the One Ring in particular) may have thrown something of a wrench into Tolkien’s plans for it, generating all sorts of potential plot holes and contradictions (hence, for example, the frequent arguments among the fan base over whether or not Sauron takes the Ring with him to Numenor.)(3) Who knows what Tolkien might have altered had he lived long enough. So, In fairness, the reasons for this are likely contained in the Primary more than the Secondary world.

Still, there is something amusing and profoundly meaningful about how Sauron goes about demolishing the most powerful kingdom in Arda, and particularly in light of the fact that he may have had other options. The end result is a more interesting story with more interesting dynamics and a more interesting villain (though, let’s be honest, this story’s cast list is full of villains).

It’s a “ridiculously circuitous plan” in a way(4): allow yourself to be taken hostage; let your insecure captor humiliate you; play off your captor’s every weakness and desire in order to win their attention and trust; subtly influence their thinking by poking at the cracks already forming in their worldview; give them and their people all kinds of new technologies and knowledge(5) that increase their material well-being at the cost of their unique culture and art; play off all of their existing fears and add a few while you’re at it; encourage their aggressive colonization of the regions you plan to rule so as to create increased hatred of your captors there; offer them a salve for their increasing existential doubts by building an entirely new religion; convince them to sever all ties with their previous religious identity; tell them that their new god is actually God and has the power to grant them the thing they want more than anything else while suggesting that certain powerful people may be “against the King” and therefore a danger to the legitimate rule and order of the god-ordained empire; convince them that the only way to get said god to do this is by sacrificing said conveniently-labeled political-dissident neighbors; act confused and concerned when people keep dying; come up with a spectacular idea that involves making your captors sail to paradise to literally fight the gods because they must be what’s blocking their prayers to Melkor and all those people you’ve sacrificed (whoops) died for nothing; and while you’re at it, make sure they use up all their resources, and mistreat all their colonies, and destroy all of their remaining architectural and artistic beauty in order to create an armada capable of doing this. Then sit back and wait for the dominoes to fall.

Is this really all for a political/military victory? I don’t think so.

This isn’t victory. This is the debasement and excoriation of an entire society—a society that just so happens to represent the race of Men as a whole, and Men as approved by the Valar, no less—by exacerbating and rewarding them for their own worst impulses. This is Sauron’s way of flipping the Valar (and probably Eru) the biggest bird he can. This is his way of telling them “see, I know them far better than you do. I know and I accept what horrible and disappointing things they really are. And if you’re not willing to come over here and take them in hand, then stay out of my way.” This is why he’s too busy laughing when he should be worried about drowning. Sauron the Dramatic and Petty has, he thinks, made his point about what Men really are and what it takes to keep them in line: his domination and subjugation.

As an aside, there are a non-zero number of things I dislike about the Shadow of Mordor/War games, first and foremost being the characterization—read: bastardization—of Celebrimbor, but another one that gets me is the choice of making Suladan (essentially the game’s stand-in for the otherwise copyright-protected Ar-Pharazon) one of the Nazgul. Granted, the incident with Suladan represents an extremely stripped-down version of the Numenor story, stripped-down enough to practically be something else, but I’d say it’s clear that is what and who it’s attempting to reference. Frankly, it makes the dynamic far less interesting.

Leaving aside the practical questions of whether Sauron had access to the Seven and Nine at this time (were they all in use, would he/could he have taken one away from someone and given it to someone else?)

A nod to the fact that the exact mechanism and limitations of the Rings’ dominating properties are not spelled out in detail anywhere, so to what degree one of the Nine, say, would have allowed Sauron more direct control over Pharazon than his actual position as advisor is admittedly unclear and open to plenty of speculation.

I think the evidence comes down solidly on the side of “yes, he did” in several places.

God bless Futurama.

There are some parts of the earlier versions of Akallabeth that I prefer, like the suggestion that Sauron teaches the Numenoreans to build things that sound rather like submarines with torpedoes.

[tysonrunningfox]

Open Flames: Chapter 20

Also known as...the epilogue

Ao3 

If I asked Fuse what her favorite part of our honeymonth was, I’d guess it was when I told my mom to ‘go away’ a little less than charitably because she thought she could interrupt our second day of wedded bliss to ask some question about some random thing that Acting Chief Hiccup could obviously handle.  If Fuse asked me the same question, I’d probably say what happened immediately after I told my mom to ‘go away’, because that was a memorable way to accidentally knock the weapons rack off of the wall and then realize no one could yell at us because it is our wall. 

If this hypothetical conversation happened in the first few days after the wedding, in that wave of the novelty of true, uninterruptible privacy that momentarily made Fuse do her best and mostly succeed to forget that she was pretty miserably pregnant, my answer would have garnered an enthusiastic response.  Any other time in the last month she probably would have rolled her eyes and asked me to rub her feet. 

Which I would have done.  Happily.  Without question. 

As always, I’d do anything to make Fuse safer or better. 

But this morning, when she assured me that burning Snoggletog breakfast didn’t make her sick while her hands curled into white-knuckled balls of pain at her side, there was nothing I could do.  She told me to get the midwife with the same even voice she uses to guide shaky hands into building bombs, and I did it, moving mechanically like she always wants me to around explosives. 

All day, for the first time, I haven’t been able to stop what’s hurting her.  My axe hanging useless on the crooked weapons rack, fists clenched against the urge to try and take control of the uncontrollable. 

“Does he need to wait outside?”  The midwife asks, yanking me out of my panic, and Fuse – Fuse, who I put into this situation – has the gall to look worried about me for a mortifying second.  “If he forgot how to move, I can get Arvid to drag him out by his toes.” 

Not a good look for a Chief. Or a man.

Or a dad. 

“Fuck,” I swear at the situation. At the house. At myself.  At the obligation to compose my face, to be a Chief, to be there for Fuse even when I want to apologize over and over every time I see the contents of one of those medical buckets.  “I’m good.  I’m good.” 

And then Fuse is breaking my hand and the midwife is encouraging her and then silence.  The worst thing I’ve ever heard. 

It stretches.  Seconds.  Years.  Eons. 

My useless axe couldn’t cut the tension.

My knees shake. 

Then there’s a cry. 

A baby’s cry. 

A shrill, instantly recognizable cry that makes me want to get that axe and face outwards from the doorway, but I can’t, because the baby is wrapped in a blanket and shoved hastily in my arms while the midwife works. 

“It’s a girl,” she says, offhand, like it’s not the most important thing she’ll ever say. 

And the silence in my head is the loudest, longest, beat of my life, looking down at that red little face. 

The baby’s furious.  Beyond pissed. 

I get it.

Hel, I just spent a month with nothing but Fuse and after being forced into the world I feel like sobbing.  And I have distractions. 

There’s something Fuse-like in the twist of the little girl’s anger.  Something righteous and unhinged and the weight of my two Fuse’s slams into my chest like a battering ram. 

I don’t remember sagging down against the wall, bundle in my arms. I don’t remember crying. I just know I have to wipe tears from my eyes when I hear the second cry, this one higher pitched as a wriggling, arching little thing is wrapped in another blanket.

“Another girl,” the midwife says, holding the screaming bundle in my direction. 

“You mean,” I jump upright as carefully as I can, still supporting myself on the wall, scared to take even a hand off of the bundle in my arms, “both? I—”

“You’re going to have to get used to having your hands full,” she adjusts my arms with brusque, bloody hands and sets the second baby in them. 

In theory, she pats my shoulder in a matronly way. I theoretically feel it and nod like her words made some kind of sense.  In practice, I float, lost in two tiny, indignant faces I almost recognize. 

Here they are. 

After all that, here they are. 

“Hand me the older one,” the midwife prompts and I reflexively shake my head, holding both bundles closer to my chest.  Her eyes are irritated but kind as she raises an eyebrow, “she needs to eat.  Unless you were intending to feed her.” 

“I’ll feed her,” I insist mindlessly.  “How—I mean, how do I feed her?” 

“By handing her to your wife, Chief.”  The midwife says the title like a mild admonishment, and I flush. 

“Right.  I knew that.  I know that.”  I reluctantly allow her to take the older twin, clutching the younger one to my chest as I appear by the bed, my feet insubstantial against the floor as I allow myself to take in the scene. 

Fuse.  Obviously exhausted, pink hair stuck to her face, head back against a pile of pillows. A baby in her arms, expression placid and overwhelmed as she listens to the midwife and tries to position the squirming bundle against her chest. 

I clear my throat.  She glances at me and there’s all that understanding, all that coping, all that resilience that’s always left behind after the blast.  It’s all familiar, all such a relief that I can barely breathe as I sit on the edge of the bed before my quaking knees dump me on my ass. 

The older twin goes to sleep after she eats, a squishy little bundle with red-brown hair tucked under Fuse’s arm as I reluctantly hand over the younger girl, her hair just starting to show blonde where it’s brushed clean on the blanket.  I was hoping for pink, but she has Fuse’s nose and I don’t remember the last time I was this lost for words.

Probably when I was our babies’ age and didn’t know any words. 

Gods, they don’t know any words. I have to teach them everything and keep them safe and I cradle my head in my hands, trying not to dwell on how easy it’s going to be to mess up. 

“I’m going to let you two get settled while I go tell your families,” the midwife starts picking up her supplies and I sit upright. 

“You’re leaving?”  I fumble for the words, “does that—what if—it’s over?”  I look at Fuse, all three of my Fuses, impossibly safe and tired and terrifying, because of how much they need me.  Because all that’s left in me is how much I need them. 

“Unless you think there’s a third.”  The midwife raises that eyebrow at me, and I get the feeling she’s thinking about moving to some other island with a chief who makes sense.  “I’ll be back.” 

“You’re alright.”  I let myself say it once the heavy front door is shut and we’re alone, let the relief bleed around it, let my hand shake now that I can’t drop anything. 

“That’s one word for it,” Fuse mutters under her breath, but my expression makes her pause and she sighs, shifting a bit uncomfortably, “I will be.  Just…a long day.” 

“Why?”  I snort even though I don’t think it’s explicitly a joke, scooting a little closer and barely biting back a sigh of relief when she lifts her head for me to slip my arm behind it, like she doesn’t hate me even after what I just put her through.  “Been busy?”

“A little bit.”  She glares at me, eyes blue fire, and that’s the same too, like I really managed not to lose any of her in the multiplication. 

“I’ll trade you for the next one,” I glance between the two babies, still more than a little in awe of how persistently they’re existing here, “I can do the hard part while you freak out and the midwife makes fun of you.” 

“Next one?”  She huffs, intact eyebrow raised. 

“I was operating under the impression that the grumpiness was supposed to end when you weren’t pregnant anymore,” I joke, kissing her forehead, happy pang in my stomach when that little blonde head nestles against my chest. 

“To be fair, I said I’d be grumpy as long as I couldn’t see my toes,” she leans back against my arm a little harder, circles under her eyes prominent as the other baby fusses, less furious than before, little hand fisting in the blanket. 

I glance at Fuse’s foot peeking out from the blankets and laugh, “and you haven’t looked yet?” 

“I don’t intend to.”  She almost laughs, breathy and exhausted as she leans a little harder into my side.  The older twin fusses again, bordering on a cry. “Can you take her?”  She asks, a little unsure of herself, holding the little blonde bundle like some rare and exciting mineral she hasn’t worked with before, but believes will combust especially impressively. 

“Sure.  Yeah.”  I nod, apologizing at least a dozen times under my breath throughout the clumsy shuffle as Fuse adjusts the blankets and picks up the older baby, steady hand gentle against the back of her neck. 

My hands feel too big, too rough, ill-equipped and shaky as my thumb brushes a blonde curl away from a tiny furrowed eyebrow.  Fuse’s eyebrow as if it had never been burned, focused on something no one else can see. 

“Gods, she looks like you,” Fuse mumbles, looking down at the older twin in her arms, temple on my chest. 

“Are you kidding me?”  I kiss the top of her head, “did you hear her screaming?  All you.” 

“This is your morning face,” she insists, “exactly.” 

I look down at the babies, the older one’s grumpy face and the younger one’s blonde curls, seeing Fuse in every twitch of tiny fingers. 

“We have to name them,” I say a bit slowly, awkwardly, trying not to show how nervous I’ve been for this part.  It’s obvious that Fuse picks up on it anyway because she kisses my shirt and sighs, settling in for a conversation she’s obviously too tired to want to have.  “I can’t keep referring to them as ‘older’ and ‘younger’ in my head.” 

“One and two?”  She offers and I shake my head. 

“Of course, when I have my first opportunity to mess a kid up for life, I double down.”  I can’t imagine shoving some of my own generational baggage down onto either of the nameless girls’ beautiful, wrinkled faces.  I’m not going to lie, I feel like I’ve gotten off the hook a little bit because Eret IV, Hiccup IV, and Stoick III are all out of the running just due to gender. 

“Sounds like you,” Fuse wakes up enough to mull the problem over properly, “they don’t look like Nuts to me.” 

“Do twins names have to go together?  Like a set?”  I love how our house feels like an extension of my mind, like anything I think, I can say out loud and it’ll find purchase, not judgement.  “Thunder and Drum.  Or rhyme?  Inga and Helga.”  Nothing sounds right, and Fuse agrees from the way she shifts, silence heavy, shoulder digging into my ribs.  “Purchase,” I gesture to the baby in her arms, “and Free Gift The Merchant Threw In For A Loyal Customer.” 

“That’s a little wordy.” 

“Maybe we should work off your name?”  I don’t bring up mine and she doesn’t either and I love her so much I don’t know where to put it all.  I’m glad for the girls to collect the love that feels like it’s spilling over.  “Fuse, Grenade, and Aftershock.  Casing and Powder.  Blast and Shrapnel.” 

She snorts half a tired laugh before sitting up a little straighter, “wait, Shrapnel.” 

“I was kidding.” 

“I’m not,” she tickles a chubby foot that has escaped the blanket bundle on my lap, “she is the second wave of destruction after the explosion.” 

“Fuse and Shrapnel.”  I mull it over and nod, “I like it.  Halfway done.” 

“The easy half,” she bounces the little girl in her arms. 

“Just because Shrapnel is a side effect of an explosion doesn’t mean she’s not destructive,” I chide gently, that heavy bond in my chest deepening when I look at the baby on my lap and tie a name to her. 

“No, I—whatever we choose has to sound good with Chief in front of it.” 

“Oh.”  I swallow, “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“The future Chief of Berk,” Fuse says quietly, messing with chubby fingers until the baby girl’s face furrows. 

I want to deflect.  To say something stupid about how Shrapnel could stage a coup at any time.  I want to tell Fuse that she doesn’t have to worry about that now, just how I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about the mantle of Chief’s wife. 

But she’s right.  And as much as I hate needing it, especially now, her support makes the hazy future feel possible. 

How much can I really mess up this dad thing if Fuse is helping me? 

“So, it’s got to be easy to pronounce,” I swallow hard, “you know how Christians have problems with Viking names.” 

“And it has to be strong.  If she looks like you this much already, of course she’s going to be strong.” 

I don’t see any of my scrawny, freckled mess in the baby’s perfect little face, but it’s not the time to argue. 

“I hope she’s smarter than me,” I rest my cheek on Fuse’s head, “a little quicker on the uptake, maybe.  Some of your common sense couldn’t hurt.” 

“So, something with some strength, some wisdom.”  A smile leaks into her voice, the kind of sly smile that usually only follows billowing smoke and destruction, “something that looks good in an Edda claiming victory over an enemy.” 

“There are a few Sigrids in my family tree,” I offer, “victorious, wise, easy for Christians to pronounce as they run away screaming.”  

“Sigrid Haddock, Heir to the throne of Berk,” Fuse whispers like she’s scared to say it louder, like I’m not the only one who feels like I’m going to wake up to some other, worse reality.  “How do we make it official?” 

“I think I just tell Rolf to write it down,” I kiss her ear, the top of her head, trying to communicate how amazing she is and knowing I’ll never quite get there, “one of the perks of being Chief.” 

Fuse hums in agreement, half asleep, and I’m settling in for a shift as her dedicated pillow when the front door swings open and the midwife steps inside, asking how Fuse is doing and leading a small group of people along with her.

Tuffnut is first, holding a stuffed Zippleback toy half his size with a white knuckled grip and a worried expression that I recognize as similar to my own before I realized that Fuse was ok.  My mom is white faced but excited, eyes widening when she sees the baby on my lap.  My dad is with her, also searching for the babies, counting really, like he also doesn’t trust the good news until he catalogs everyone. 

Hiccup trails behind a little bit, as unsure if he’s invited as his name is in my head, and I kiss the top of Fuse’s head as I wiggle my arm out from behind her, standing slowly, carefully, Shrapnel’s tiny body more precious and fragile than anything I’ve ever held. 

“Can you shut the door?”  I ask when the Snoggletog wind whips through the room, trying not to panic when the gust of cold makes Shrapnel’s face screw up as she lets out a single, indignant cry.  “It’s ok,” I bounce her like I’ve seen Rolf do, but it doesn’t seem to cheer her up any, “your grandpa is shutting the door.” 

“On it,” he says too quickly, and if I weren’t so busy trying to prevent my baby from crying, I’d comment on how Hiccup sounds like he’s about to join in. 

“Two healthy baby girls,” the midwife assures as the door clicks shut and my dad tosses a log on the fire without me having to ask, “one healthy mom.” 

Mom. 

Fuse is a mom. 

It’s the first time I’ve heard it and I look up at her, again searching for some sort of change, something that’s getting away from me.  But she’s still Fuse, thanking her dad for the Zippleback and rolling her eyes when he ruffles her hair. 

“One overwhelmed new dad,” Hiccup jokes and I nod, willingly admitting to that much. 

Dad. 

I’m a dad.  It’s different when people say it out loud. 

“Do you want to hold her?”  I ask, glancing at Fuse to double check that it’s ok, but she’s already handed off Sigrid to her dad, who’s cooing enthusiastically over her and saying something about the chaos she’ll cause. 

“Y—Absolutely,” Hiccup nods and I carefully rest my daughter—I have a daughter.  I have two daughters—in his arms. 

“Hold her head.” 

“Of course,” he says, humoring me, even as Mom steps up beside him and gives me a fond, exasperated smile. 

“He has held a baby before.” 

“You haven’t been a dad before,” he tells her gently, voice low as he rocks Shrapnel, “he’s got to be protective, he can’t help it.” 

“She’s beautiful.”  When Mom looks between her husband and me, there’s a ghost of that old ‘what if’ I used to hate on his face, but now it just makes me think about what it would have felt like not to be able to hold my baby the second they came into the world.  “Older or younger?”

“Younger,” I nod, “by all of a few minutes, so I don’t know how much it matters but…” 

“It’ll matter to them,” my dad points out, very carefully taking Sigrid from Tuffnut and smiling at her. 

“Ruffnut never forgave me for beating her on the way out,” Tuffnut shakes his head, “you’ve got a long life of guilt trips ahead of you, little miss.”  He frowns, “assuming this one is the girl twin.” 

“They’re both girls,” I correct him, risking the few steps of distance from my parents to stand next to Fuse, hand on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?”  He asks and Fuse sighs, exhausted. 

“Dad, there’s no boy.” 

“But they’re twins.”  Tuffnut looks around the room confused and for the first time today, the midwife is looking at someone other than me like they’re the dumbest person on Midgard. 

“Twins who are both girls,” Hiccup cradles the head, like I asked, as he hands Shrapnel carefully to my mom. 

“Yeah, but which one’s the boy?” 

“Neither,” I say, the room feeling a little smaller than it did a few minutes ago.  A little more cramped.  “Because they’re both girls.” 

“No, really,” he laughs, “which one’s the boy?” 

I look down at Fuse, her pale face barely sustaining her irritated expression, and sometimes, the Chief mantle isn’t as heavy as I feared it would be. 

“Ok, everybody out,” I clap my hands together before reaching out towards my dad, “baby please.” 

“I’m just asking—”

“Tuffnut,” I nudge my chin towards the door as I accept Sigrid, “get out of my house.” 

“Mom needs her rest,” the midwife is finally my ally, helping me herd the extra family towards the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” My mom asks, hesitant to hand Shrapnel over. 

“I’m good,” I insist, feeling overwhelmed but symmetrical when she sets the baby in my free arm.  

“Come on,” Hiccup takes her hand and tugs, and I don’t know what to do with how easy it is for him to be on my side right now, but I’m glad for it, “let’s get back to the feast, I have a lot to brag about.” 

“If you’re sure—”

“He’s sure,” Dad helps move her towards the door and then we’re alone again.  The four of us. 

My family within the family. 

Fuse yawns, scooting down in bed a bit with a wince that makes my chest hurt. 

“Get some rest,” I look down at the babies in my arms, both of their eyes closed, their barely there weight soothing.  “I’ve got this for a while.” 

“You could put them down and come rest with me,” she offers, already comfortable in the center of the bed and I smile. 

“Maybe later,” I shrug, barely, my always moving hands finally forced still like Fuse is always trying to do.  “I’ve got a lot to tell these girls, might as well get started.” 

“They need to sleep too,” she says like she feels like she has to, but she’s looking at me with a soft, hazy expression I can’t possibly deserve before she yawns again. 

“I’m not stopping them.”  I adjust my grip and Sigrid’s little hand escapes the blanket, fingers curling reflexively against my shirt.  “They like my voice, remember?” 

“I love you,” she says, quiet and sleepy, tugging the blankets further around her shoulders. 

“Love you too.”  I’m not sure if she hears me, because her light snores start almost immediately, chest rising and falling evenly under the covers. 

I walk to the small front window, mostly to check on the snow, but the torchlight in the village catches my eye.  My village. 

I look down at my daughters.  Our village. 

“This is Berk,” I whisper, swallowing hard and watching the fluffy snow drift towards the ground, casting shadows across my babies’ faces when it passes in front of the moon.  “Our home for eight—well, nine generations.  It snows so much that the only way you can really tell that it’s winter is when you haven’t seen the sun for the better part of a month.  The food is…mostly mutton, I’m not going to lie to you.  Lots of mutton now that we have fewer dragons than ever, but that’s alright, the ones sticking around are family.” 

I’m unsure what to do with the feeling that this day, this conversation, this moment is the first of many, not part of a countdown, but I’m glad for the change. 

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

My Sweet Hero

Thanks to @a-shout-to-the-void and @xathia-89 for beta reading this for me. I hope you all enjoy this slice of life Modern AU, school Sasuke. 

Warnings: Adorable School nerd, strong language, some appearances form U/T crew and a cameo from a Prickle Puff.

Masterlist

---

My Sweet Hero

This time of year was always one of those you either loved or hated. It was filled with so many words of love and candy you’d think the world around you had been sugar coated. Every year it was the same for him. He didn’t mind the loved-up couples or the fact their displays of love declaration were everywhere. He was actually a romantic at heart. No, what he felt was a pang of jealousy every year as he watched while others enjoyed the day and he remained in his classroom surrounded by textbooks and research.

There was a school open day planned in two days and some of the classes had decided to do Valentine’s day themed events. Couples signed up to take part in everything from scavenger hunts to locked room puzzles. There was even a race where you had obstacles and things too, “Test the strength of your love”. It all looked very nice and he felt warm looking at all the happy smiling faces of the people around him, even if he was envious at their ability to effortlessly interact with each other. What would I be like to be part of the crowd for once?

“Earth to Sasuke… Hello?” A loud and familiar voice came rushing up from behind him as he walked up the hill to the school gates.

“Mm? Oh, Yukimura good morning.”

“Morning. I’ve been calling you since you got off the bus you know?” Yukimura fell in line next to him adjusting his backpack on his shoulder.

“Sorry I was thinking about something.”

“Yeah? It wasn’t some of your weird mad scientist stuff was it?” Yukimura asked tilting his head a little to look at Sasuke a little closer.

“Theoretical Time Travel and Quantum Mechanics is not Mad Scientist stuff.” Sasuke’s familiar flat response resulted in a wry smile from his friend. They weren’t the most likely of friends but against the odds of basically every stereotype, they were best friends.

“That is exactly what a mad scientist would say.” Yuki chuckled a little as he teased before going bug eyes and jumping behind Sasuke. “Oh, crap.”

“What is it?” Sasuke looked around instinctively failing to see a threat.

“It’s that girl from class 4.” Yukimura looked comical as he poked his head out from behind Sasuke’s back to point out a girl in uniform walking with her friends a little ahead of them.

“You’re right it certainly looks like her.”

“No, you Dummy I mean… God, after school yesterday she cornered me as I was leaving. Girls are so damn scary.” Sasuke could tell Yukimura was turning red. It was something he did regularly. He was probably red to the tips of his ears right now.

“Cornered you?”

“Yeah for a love confession.”

“I see…” Sasuke returned to looking at the girl walking in front.

“Hey! What’s with that reaction? I’m not bad looking you know?” Clearly, Sasuke’s lack of response had struck a chord with Yukimura who had gone a little defensive.

“I never said you were. But I am however curious. I take the fact that you are attempting to hide means you turned her down?” Sasuke stopped walking causing Yukimura to lightly thump into his back.

“N-not exactly.” Yukimura became very interested in adjusting the strap on his bag when Sasuke turned to look at him.

“No?”

“I kinda freaked out and called her an idiot and she ran away in tears. I hate it when girls cry.” Yukimura raised his head. His face was indeed red and his eyes looked a little like he was totally bewildered. Perhaps this is why we are friends? I find it difficult to do standard social interactions with almost everyone and you struggle with anything that involves the opposite gender.

“If you hate it so much, I would suggest you pay closer attention to the many ways of making a girl happy that I’ve been trying to teach you for years Yuki.” The deep calming voice of a friendly Senior chimed into the private conversation. Shingen was usually surrounded by girls no matter what time of year it was.

“Gross I’m not saying any of that stuff.” Yukimura scrunched up his face at the idea of imitating any of Shingen’s dramatic performances.

“Agreed. I admit you have technique Shingen but why you have to be so vomit-inducing with it is beyond me.” The icy tones of another familiar Senior joined them.

“Morning Shingen… Kenshin.” Sasuke gave a polite nod as they continued to the gates as a group.

“Morning.”

---

On his way to the science block, Sasuke noticed a brightly coloured display outside the art department. “Wall of love”. Drawing closer to it out of curiosity he managed to read the notice pinned next to it. “Declare your love, admiration and appreciation here. Total anonymity. To shy to tell your crush you like them? Not a problem. Pin your messages here or post your notes in the box provided and we shall play Cupid and pass on your anonymous admirations.”

“Ridiculous isn’t it?” The gruff and tired voice of someone spoke up from next to him.

“Morning Ieyasu. It’s… different.”

“Waste of time.” Ieyasu poked one of the paper flowers on the display with his finger as he spoke. “But I suppose this is better than having someone come up to you randomly and disturbing your day with mindless love confessions. You using the particle simulator today?” One of the benefits of being part of this school was its affiliation to the University which meant students could access equipment usually unavailable. There was however usually a big waiting list, and today it was Sasuke’s turn to use the machine.

“Mm…Oh! yes.”

“Well try not to break it. See ya.” Ieyasu’s switch from casual conversation to business was fast. Without waiting for a reply, he stalked off towards the labs.

---

Lunchtime came around all to fast. The phrase time flies when you’re having fun came to mind and made him chuckle as he looked over his latest calculations to try to prove his theory on the ability to time travel. He was lucky if he was honest, the professors all supported him with his research as long as his other studies didn’t suffer. Thankfully his grades maintained their steady average in the 90% margin so he was free to do whatever he wished. One day I’ll crack this I just have to figure out a few more things. The bell sounded throughout the campus for break time and when he went to his locker to retrieve his packed lunch something small fluttered from on top of it. What is that?... Huh!?

After picking up the fallen item he noticed it was an envelope with heart washi tape on it. Was this one of those anonymous notes? Surely not. Much more likely its one of those guys pulling a prank again. The memory of a few years ago at the winter formal made him shudder. Being told to go outside as a girl was asking for him by name, to be bombarded by a barrage of snowballs and have them all laugh at him for being such a nerd. I’m not falling for the same prank twice. I might be a Nerd but I’m not an idiot.

Quickly stuffing the note into his pocket and grabbing his food bag, he made his way to the playing fields where he always met Yukimura for lunch. It was far enough from the main campus benches that they could always grab a seat. Also, Yukimura was a member of nearly every school sports team so it was handy for him to grab food near where he was busy working. He wasn’t there when he arrived so deciding to just set up his meal.

“Hey man sorry, I’m a bit late.” Yukimura jogged up, his hair still slightly damp from having a shower after last period.

“No problem. I wasn’t waiting long anyway.” Sasuke put his jacket down next to him and the “love note” fell out of his pocket landing at Yukimura’s feet.

“Hey what’s this?” Yukimura bent down to retrieve it flipping it over in his hand looking at it as if it might be some sort of weapon. You never knew with Sasuke. Last Halloween he remembered his friend dressing up as a ninja and throwing something that filled the whole house with smoke. His parents were not amused at all.

“I don’t know it was in my locker when I went to get my lunch. It’s probably a prank.” Sasuke shrugged as he took a bite from one of his sandwiches.

“Oh yeah? Well if it is, I’ll go and smack a few skulls together.” Yukimura handed back over the note and punched his fist into the palm of his other hand as he made his declaration.

“I’ll help.” Kenshin drifted into the conversation like a cold north wind. He was so silent at times when he moved, so graceful. Was that from the training he did as head of the fencing team or was that just natural?

“You two are always so quick to jump into a fight.” Shingen sighed as he lowered himself to the grass and reclined on it. The sight of his lunchbox being nearly completely only one filled with deserts had Yukimura pulling a face.

“Hey! I’m not as bad as he is.” Yukimura protested as he split up some of his own lunch and swapped it with some of the sweets from Shingen. Shingen didn’t bother to protest, they had been family friends and neighbour for long enough this was just a normal interaction for them now.

“Thank you both of you but I really don’t think its anything to worry that much over.” Sasuke said as he took a mouthful of chilled water from his bottle.

“And what if it isn’t a prank? Oh, I can see it now. A beauty sitting there all alone pining away clutching her chest. Her delicate little heart fluttering away as she stares out longingly from the window thinking of our own Sasuke.” Shingen was being dramatic. I guess it’s hard to turn off that great actor thing.

“Is there an intermission in this performance or are we to expect more?” Kenshin rolled his eyes as he plucked out a pickled plum from his rice and crunched it happily.

“I pity you Kenshin you have no sense of romance.”

---

By the time he looked out of the window from the science block, he could clearly see people milling around making their way home. He pulled the cuff of his shirt back and looked at his watch. Guess I got so into this I forgot about the time. I should pack up and go home.

After setting the lab back to its original state and putting his coat on the peg he trailed the familiar path back to the main gate which was when someone smacked right into him from one of the side rooms of the art department as he passed by.

“Ah!”

“Oh my god! I am so sorry. I didn’t see you and… oh no!” The soft chime-like voice of a girl addressed him as her bag tumbled from her grip sending its contents scattering all over the ground.

“It’s alright. Are you ok? Here let me help you.” Sasuke didn’t even pause before he had made his offer of assistance and was gathering all the fallen items for her.

“Y-yes…. err… thank you. God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz.” She was clearly flustered. “I think that’s it all.” She placed the last of her notebooks back into her bag and gave him an embarrassed smile. Do I know her?

“Oh, wait is this yours too?” Sasuke bent to retrieve something that had rolled a little further away. His hand stopped slightly as he realised what he was holding. No way. It couldn’t be, could it? It's exactly like the tape on that note I got. But its common enough that girls these days have washi tape it could be unrelated.

“Ah! Oh yeah… thanks.” She gratefully took the tape and bowed to him. “I’m really so, so sorry.”

“It’s alright there was no harm done. As long as you are ok that is all that matters.” Her cute reaction and sincerity actually made him feel a little flustered.

“You really… you’re very sweet Sasuke. Oh! I gotta run sorry I’m gonna miss my bus! Thanks again, bye!” She snapped up with the brightest smile beaming on her face and turned on her heel and started to run. Did I tell her my name?

---

Curiosity is the foundation of his scientific exploration. Well, that and his desire to travel in time and see history with his own two eyes. He put his hand in his pocket and his fingers grazed over the edges of something, pulling it free he realised it was that note again. I wonder. Breaking the seal of the washi tape he saw the small delicate writing on the pale green paper.

“Sasuke Sarutobi. I really like you. I realise this is a long shot but even with the odds stacked against me, I cannot pass up the chance to tell you even if it is only like this. Your secret admirer.”

He stared at the paper in mild shock. Re-reading the words over and over as if he was missing something. If this is a girl. Could it be her? Don’t be ridiculous Sasuke she’s a popular girl why on earth would she notice a nerd like you? Still. Total anonymity huh?

---

It took a bit of planning but once the idea was there it was difficult to ignore it. I’ll put my own note in that box and wait for the reply then I should be able to see who it is. Sasuke thumbed the edge of his olive-green envelope as he walked the familiar route past the art department to the science block. He dropped it in the box in such a way that no one noticed, a small rush of adrenaline kicked in and now he just had to wait.

A group of kids emptied the box and began shuffling the notes like a deck of cards before dividing them up so they could be delivered. Clearly, this was a popular thing. A short time later and a familiar figure crept along looking around them shyly. She took out a note that even from this distance he could see was just like the one he first received. Before he knew it, his body was moving before his mind had even caught up to the motion and he was at her side.

“Hello MC.”

“Oh! Err… Hello Sasuke.” Her shoulders jumped as he spoke to her.

“Is that for me?”

“Huh?!” Her eyes were wide and swimming. Ok, Sasuke you could possibly have been a little less direct about that.

“Well, I would surmise from the fact you are using the same stationery as before that there is a high possibility that you are the one that wrote this note. Of course, if I am wrong and you aren’t then I am very sorry for making you jump.” Sasuke showed her the love confession he had in his pocket. She visibly froze.

“… You aren’t wrong.”

“Pardon me?” Her faint voice confirmed his thoughts and he had a moment of being unable to process thought.

“What’s with that look?” She smiled at him giggling at his reaction.

“Sorry, It’s just. I had no idea that we were acquainted enough for you to know my name. We are not only in different classes we are also in different years. And you are clearly on the more popular side of the fence.”

“I might not be as popular as you imagine.” She shuffled her feet adorably as she spoke

“And anyway, Of course, I remember the name of the guy that saved me after I transferred.”

“Saved you? Me?” Sasuke tried to go back over his memories in search of such a thing. She could have been remembering someone else.

“Yes. You.” She resigned herself to continue her explanation her smile faltering a little as she realised he had forgotten all about her. “I was completely lost looking for my class and you were in a rush but you dropped what you were doing and helped guide me to my location. I- I wanted to thank you more but… I… I’m sorry I was too nervous to approach you after that.”

“That girl that day by the gates, was you? I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, I mean you were so…” Sasuke remembered a small new student struggling to look at a campus map in a total fluster. She… is that really her?

“Ugly?”

“I was going to say small and frightened looking. Clearly, you have settled in now and you don’t appear to be so small in fact you’ve grown up.” Sasuke cringed even he was aware of how awkward he was being.

“You talk a little like an old man.” Her laughter was a blessing to him and if it came from his own embarrassment, he would gladly embarrass himself as many times as she liked.

“My Apologises I am not exactly very familiar with socialising.”

“I see. Well, you were right the note was from me. I suppose now you know you are going to turn me, down right? I mean its how these things work.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Girl confesses, the guy isn’t interested so he turns her down…”

“What if I am interested?”

“Huh?” She looked at him as if he was some sort of totally new scientific discovery. Even he had to admit his fast response was a little shocking and it was him who said it.

“That is to say. I would like to test a theory if you’d let me?”

“You do know all theories work until put in practice then they have a failure rate.”

“Yes, depending on the experiment and its fundamentals, contributing factors that are likely to affect negative results it can be anywhere from…” Her decent back into laugher made him stop. “Oh, I’m sorry. I have been told I tend to ramble.”

“No, no sorry, I thought it was funny because it was kinda cute.” She waved her hands at him in reassurance.

“Cute?”

“Oh! Guys don’t like being called that… erm…” She was turning pink in her new fluster. She’s actually rather cute herself.

“No, If you are the one calling me that then I don’t mind.” Sasuke said softly as he drew closer to her side. “Mc?”

“Yes?”

“The open day is tomorrow and I understand it would be asking a bit too much if you wished to take part in the events but, would you consider allowing me the honour of escorting you?”

“…” She stood there, mouth hanging open totally mute.

“Did I say that wrong?” Sasuke cast his eyes down as he tried to think of a correction.

“N-no. You said it perfectly I’m sorry I thought I was being pranked.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I would love to go with you tomorrow.” Her answer washed over him like a wave of relief. I guess that means I have a date then?

“Great. I’ll see you at the main gates tomorrow then.”

---

“Hey look it’s Nerd-Suke. What are you hanging around here for don’t tell me you were waiting for someone?” A familiar school bully approached him as he stood at their meeting place. Oh great, not today, come on.

“As it happens…”

“Ha! What kind of loser would agree to…?” He rounded on Sasuke clearly enjoying himself and his easy target. This is not going to end well. Sasuke tried to remember some things Kenshin had showed him after telling him if he wanted to be safe, he would have to learn some sort of self-defence.

“Excuse me? Who are you calling a loser?” A female voice pushed past the large guy and joined Sasuke at his side.

“Huh? No way who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and if you are done with my date, I would like to have him back now.” MC took a firm grip on Sasuke’s sleeve. She was trembling a little but she was holding her ground. Mc…

“Date? Nah no way. A cutie like you should see sense and ignore him and go with me.” The bully grabbed her arm and looked her over from head to toe the smile on his face turning into one that sent a rolling rage through Sasuke’s body. “What you say- AH!”

“I believe the lady said I was her date.” Sasuke had not only removed the hand from the girl he had it twisted up the bullies back so hard that the others guys legs had buckled in order to prevent his arm being broken. “Sorry, Mc.”

“Sasuke…”

“You won’t get away with this!” The bully was released and threw out the customary threat expected as he ran from the scene. Even if I haven’t I won’t let you touch her.

“Shall we go?” Sasuke held out his hand and she gladly accepted it. Her eyes sparkling at him.

“You really are my hero.”

“I always wanted to be told that.”

---

[sserpente]

In a heartbeat (Chapter 11)

A/N: Hope you have a nice week, everybody! Here’s a new chapter to make your Monday a little more bearable! ☺

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

“I’m not a champ at physics but if the hold of the dagger is heavier than the blade, shouldn’t I throw the knife by gripping the light end?”

Loki chuckled darkly. He was standing so close to you the body heat radiating off of him clouded your conscience. Every movement he made posed yet another distraction to what he was trying to teach you, regardless of how interested you were.

He had had a point—it was essential you knew how to properly defend yourself and oddly, when you had gone to sleep in Loki’s apartment next to each other after a wonderful hot shower, you had been looking forward to some adventurous hand-to-hand combat, where you finally had an excuse to touch him and explore his body.

Were you naughty for thinking that? In this very situation? Your life was in danger, one of your best friends had died, you had almost died and been enslaved and all you could do before falling asleep was wondering about how godly Loki would look naked. What was this? Some kind of self-defence mechanism your mind was developing? A tame version of Stockholm syndrome? Loki wasn’t your captor, you were very well aware of that, however.

“Theoretically, you are right. But if I let you throw these daggers with the blade in hand, you are going to cut yourself, little minx.” He explained tauntingly.

“You’re acting like I have never known violence before. I told you I am taking self-defence classes. Why aren’t we doing that first? Teach me how to throw a punch the way you would do it.”

“The people we are dealing with on this planet are, if anything, humanoid. They will crush you with their thumb, (Y/N), that is why you will be staying away from the battlefield.”

“I wasn’t planning on going at war, Loki.”

Pausing, he looked you directly in the eye and pressed his lips together to a thin line.

“You are already in one,” His expression darkened and for just a split second, you believed to have caught regret sparkling in his blue eyes. It was gone as soon as you noticed.

“Bend your wrist back toward your forearm.” Loki then commanded, pushing your legs apart for better balance. You almost moaned when his hands touched your thighs, his hips bumping against your back.

“Which is your dominant leg?”

“Right one,” you whispered.

The God of Mischief nodded.

“Place your weight on it like this.” Again, he reached for your thighs. You swallowed thickly, starting to believe that he was doing that just to tease you. He couldn’t know, of course, about your growing feelings for him, still, however, he seemed to be using you to fight his own boredom in between trying to figure out how to get back to Asgard and defeat Hela.

Well, if he continued like this, you certainly didn’t mind.

“When you swing the knife forward, you shift your weight from your dominant leg to your non-dominant leg. And make sure to keep enough distance between the blade and your head unless you fancy a new haircut.”

“Funny, really,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes all the while fighting a smile.

“Now throw. Let the dagger slip from your grasp and let your body follow forward. Throw.”

You did. Loki’s dagger slashed through the air, rotating more or less horizontally until hitting the plane wreck—only did it not stick like the one he himself had thrown to demonstrate it to you. Granted, you had focused on the dancing of those gorgeous muscles under his dark leather armour of his in the process, still, the result had been impressive.

“You will need to apply more strength,” he remarked when he tilted his head and watched the dagger fall to the ground.

“Really? No ‘well done for your first try’?”

Smirking, his blue eyes locked with yours. You couldn’t tell whether it was a minute or an hour that passed until Thor made an appearance. Valkyrie was right behind him. She only shot you a disgusted glance, raising an eyebrow at the dagger on the dirty ground.

“Any news from Heimdall?” Loki turned away from you just long enough for you to figure out by yourself how to throw the next dagger at the back of the plane wreck as he handed it to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Thor shaking his head.

“Not yet. Thanks to you, he is on the run. He might be busy,” he replied sarcastically. The God of Mischief rolled his eyes.

Valkyrie opened a bottle of beer. “We need to get to Asgard as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I know but Heimdall is keeping an eye on Hela. We need to be careful and attack when she is least prepared.”

Sighing, you turned back to Loki.

“Did you two talk? I mean… did she apologise?”

Frowning, he opened his mouth. “She did not,”

“But is she still acting this… cold?” A great pun you had not intended to use. You resisted the urge to slap your palm against your forehead.

“I don’t believe that should be any concern of yours, little minx.”

“If you two don’t get along, you are hardly in the condition to save the world together and thus, it affects me as well,” you lied, your tone smug and teasing.

Loki took the hint. He smirked mischievously at you.

“Throw the dagger.” He said, ending the conversation.

It was then you overheard Valkyrie’s voice, turning your attention back to her and Thor.

“…if we keep that stupid mortal girl around.”

Growling, you gripped the hold of the dagger tighter and resumed the correct position. Place your weight on your dominant leg, bend your wrist back toward your forearm.

Just when you were about to throw the dagger, however, you turned, focusing all of your anger on the fierce Valkyrie only a few feet away from you. There was a slight chance you were going to hit Thor but you were willing to take the risk.

You let the blade slip from your grasp—and hit Valkyrie right in her thigh.

A painful scream escaped her lips, followed by a fake gasp on your behalf. Loki’s eyes widened as he stared at the bleeding wound his dagger had caused, then turned his gaze back to you to shoot you a reproachful look.

“Stupid girl, you did that on purpose!” Valkyrie shrieked.

“I swear I didn’t, I’m so sorry! I’ve just learned how to do that. I’m so sorry.” You fought hard to hold back a laugh. You knew of course that Valkyrie just like Thor and Loki possessed supernatural healing abilities and that it wouldn’t take long for her to recover—you hadn’t actually planned on killing her, after all.

Still, and that was the part that scared you the most, the sight of her injury filled you with satisfaction, your revenge soothed for now. She deserved it. She had insulted Loki after using his body for her pleasure and she had offended you. There was no excuse. This woman was a nightmare.

Valkyrie stormed off, muttering vulgar curses in the process. Loki let out a taunting sigh.

“You did that on purpose, did you not?”

“No,” you answered, sounding entirely unaffected. “I was aiming for her head.” He chuckled when you shrugged.

You were sweating by the time Loki was done with your training. It had taken you another three hours of throwing knives on end, your arm aching and protesting with every movement, that he finally agreed on showing you the basic strategies of combat.

Three seconds in, he had thrown you to the ground effortlessly, mocking you for all the mistakes you were making. Apparently, your self-defence teacher hadn’t been so good, after all.

Grumbling, you scratched the back of your hand as you followed the God of Mischief back inside, ready to fall onto your provisory bed and rest your limbs until you had recovered.

You even ignored Valkyrie who, appalled by yours and Loki’s arrival, was lost in a heated conversation with Thor. Her thigh had healed already… unfortunately.

“I need a shower,” you murmured, eyeing your wet clothes in a disgusted manner as you looked down at yourself. Loki chuckled.

“What you need are new clothes. A shower will do nothing if you keep walking around in these garments. You have not changed them since the day I met you.” He stated dryly, as if the explanation was logical.

“I can’t just snap my fingers and magic some new clothes on me, Loki. If I could, I wouldn’t be complaining.”

The God of Mischief only tilted his head in response. You had learned by now he always did that when he pondered over something, intrigued, fascinated or alerted.

“Loki?” Thor waved at him, urging him on to join their conversation. “I know how we will get back to Asgard.”

Loki frowned. “Do tell.”

“You see that gateway? The big one?” He briefly pointed at the red glowing smoke pipe outside, outshining the sun. It was hideous.

Valkyrie nodded. “It’s the Devil’s Anus.”

“The what?” Blinking, the Thunderer shook his head.

“I have heard of it before. The Grandmaster mentioned it briefly when he invited me to his house.” Loki explained thoughtfully.

“Well, I didn’t know it was called that when I picked it. I was able to reach Heimdall again, Loki, that gateway will take us straight to Asgard. It will take us home.” All of a sudden, Thor sounded hopeful—dreamy, even. As if finally, he was going to this city he had been dreaming of for years. If only this were the case.

Silently, your gaze wandered back and forth between the two brothers.

“You do realise we will need a ship a lot stronger than the ones we used to get to Helheim? And even then it’s still risky. We might as well get ourselves killed.” Valkyrie tossed in. It seemed like the only thing this woman ever did was opening beer bottles. So she did now, taking a big gulp and then shooting you an evil glare.

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms and leaned back. Your arm was still throbbing like someone had trampled on it.

“Yes, I know, I know. That’s where Loki comes in. I have a plan, brother.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he mumbled in response. You barely managed to hold back your giggling. Even if his joke was, given the circumstances, anything but nice or funny… you caught yourself laughing quietly.

You really had fallen for this man. When the realisation hit you, you gasped for air like a drowning kitten.

“You made friends with the Grandmaster. Loki, we need one of his ships. One that is big enough to get us back home safely.”

You would actually get to see Asgard then. The place you had read about in books about Norse Mythology… it was impressive. Perhaps… perhaps this was, apart from meeting the God of Mischief, the only positive thing about the miserable situation you were in.

“You are talking about stealing the access codes to his security system…” He trailed of, frowning at the ground.

Thor nodded. “Could you do that?”

“The Grandmaster will hold one of his famous contests of champions tonight. He will be distracted. It will not be too difficult.”

“Then do it,” Valkyrie spat wrathfully. You resisted the urge to steal one of Loki’s daggers and stab her once more.

Loki simply ignored her harsh words and instead smiled at Thor as if he were about to steal cookies from the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat when he suddenly turned to you.

“You come with me, little minx.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

[youarenotthewalrus]

this article is dumb, i shouldn’t be hate-reading and you shouldn’t either but here we are so let’s do this:

We begin with a description of a platformer doing something clever and metatextual at the end. Followed by;

What this means is that the game stands in stark contrast to an industry whose products, historically speaking, rely on hijacking the reptile brains of hormone-crazed teenaged boys. In short, the history of videogames is the history of the glorification of violence.

Ah yes, who can forget such bloodthirsty products of the military-industrial complex as Pong, Tetris, Pacman or Zork?

We can debate what constitutes the first videogame, and whether it’s fair to attribute the invention of videogames to the military,

Given the contentiousness of that assertion, I should certainly hope so!

but what’s undeniable is that military engineers—ever ready to coopt, conspire with, or commission innovation from the private sector (e.g., the splitting of the atom, the invention of I.Q.)—more or less immediately recognized that videogames could be employed as a cheap substitute for teaching soldiers how to do everything from fly a plane to take out a sniper.

Kinda reductive to reduce the history of video games to FPSes in general and America’s Army in particular, doncha think?

Anyway, then we get some more waffle about how first-person shooters video games are training us to kill, before we get to the real question: given that this platformer he just finished playing did something a little artsy, can video games be art even despite the fact that were originally works of military propaganda intended to inure potential military recruits to violence? And more importantly, given that this guy seems to think the history of video games began with first person shooters, is he really qualified to answer this question?

Then we get some pointless side chatter over the claim that games are good for your brain, followed by the charge that games are addictive--despite the explicit comparison made to gambling (at “your local Native American casino,” no less), there is no discussion of lootboxes or microtransactions whatsoever, suggesting the author is not aware of specific steps which are taken to make games addictive and is just invoking vague notions of all games being addictive. None of this ever comes up again, and we promptly move back to talking about the actual game.

More specifically, Inside is what’s known as a “2D side-scroller”—meaning that you observe your figure mostly in profile in the center of your screen while a background landscape scrolling right-to-left gives the illusion of left-to-right forward motion.

Somehow, the use of the term “2D side-scroller” in quotes does not make me feel that this fellow is sufficiently familiar with video games to assess whether or not they can be art, as does the fact that he reckons that the platformer he is playing hearkens back to a 1981 shoot-em-up he remembers from his teens, which makes his apparent conviction that video games originated as first person shooters all the more baffling.

And while the world of videogames has already become a “spectator sport,” I’m unaware of any instance of the record of a videogame player’s performance becoming intellectual property, as it has in the world of chess, and in a whole array of sports. True, gamers go “professional” by attracting followers on the internet and earning ad revenue, but their play itself is not copyrighted. Games might wind up in museums (worldwide, there are at least seventeen museums dedicated to videogames), but bracketed moments of the play of particular games have not yet become value-able as art.

I invite the author to start selling unauthorized DVDs of clips from popular Twitch streamers and gaming YouTubers and see how long their lawyers allow him to entertain the notion that Let’s Plays do not constitute intellectual property.

the 2D side-scroller and its pitbull of a cousin, the first-person shooter,

???

The rest of the section is pretty unremarkable, so we move onto him complaining about lousy movie critique, then lousy video game critique, then explaining the concept of Easter eggs, then video game puzzles:

The puzzles of Limbo and Inside are more ambitious than the puzzles of most games in that their solutions often require the player to wait, or to exhibit what in psychology and education circles is known as divergent thought—for example, a corpse is a corpse, but it is also potentially a deadweight that can be used to spring a boobytrap.

Making the player wait or use an unusual object as a weight doesn’t strike me as particularly devilishly clever.

Then we get this jewel of a paragraph:

Nevertheless, puzzles themselves stand as an obstacle blocking the path of videogames’ journey from game to art. For while I might willingly suspend my disbelief long enough to accept that a boy has been tasked with jogging exhaustedly through a factory that churns out invincible blob creatures, I will find that willingness strained when I am also confronted with confounding puzzles placed in my path for no good reason. Videogames, in other words, ignore the basic tenets of internal consistency—in order to keep playing, you must suspend your disbelief, and then suspend it again, and again, and again, which means that in order to play and enjoy videogames you must also suspend the kind of critical judgment that is normally associated with art.

You heard it here, folks, accepting weird gameplay conceits means you can’t critically analyze a game.

Similarly, Easter eggs appeal only on the level of geek fetish—which is more or less the opposite of critical appreciation—and it is for this reason that I won’t address the puzzles and Easter eggs in Inside, even though they eventually lead to what some have concluded is the game’s “hidden meaning.” And this is the problem of videogames in a nutshell, because meaning in work of art is no more hidden from its beholder than the summit of a mountain is hidden from the mountain climber.

Sounds to me more like the problem is that he’s ignoring what the game itself is telling him about its plot and themes because it’s doing it in a way he finds aesthetically displeasing. I don’t know much about critical analysis but I feel like that’s not really how you should be doing it.

We then get a description of the plots of Limbo and Inside, including a decent bit of analysis marred by a bit of “murder simulator”-ism.

This is worth noting because prior to this moment the violence the boy has inflicted, either in Limbo or Inside, has been indirect—really an act of self-defense—but now the game is threatening to creep back into the usual videogame mode of affectless murder. You are given a choice: slip backward toward the wantonly horrific likes of Grand Theft Auto (1997) and Postal 2 (2003) [3] , or pause a moment and then continue on in a macabre but not morally bankrupt pursuit narrative. In this way, the player is implicated in a wryly disjointed bit of commentary on the history of gaming itself.

I mean this entirely sincerely: someone should get this guy a copy of Undertale. I think he’d enjoy it, if he could get past the idea of having to accept JRPG conventions.

Sadly, video game still aren’t art because he can list a bunch of movies that had vaguely similar elements:

From there, it’s not hard to find antecedents for Inside in both literature and film—it’s a little bit Soylent Green, a little bit Logan’s Run, a little bit The Island of Dr. Moreau, and more than a little bit Frankenstein. The imagery starts to seem familiar, too, with milieus lifted from E.T., Alien, and The Poseidon Adventure. But all this allusive flotsam becomes a bit of a disappointment, as eventually you become hard pressed to find anything in Inside that you haven’t seen inside something else.

Ezra Pound demanded that artists “make it new,” and Marcel Proust insisted that a writer is someone who invents a voice as unique as his or her fingerprint, but Inside isn’t even really trying to tell a story that hasn’t been told before. That’s a problem. Art cannot be made up wholly of references to other art. Star Wars, for example, does not come close to art because at its core it is nothing more than a pre-fab mash-up of archetypes mail-ordered from the IKEA superstore of Joseph Campbell.

I mean... why can’t art be composed solely of references to other art? Why can the whole not be more than the sum of its parts? If I take a picture of the Mona Lisa and photoshop a photo of a can of soup over her head, the resulting work is distinct from either of the originals, even though I provided no original content except the idea of sticking the two together.

Put another way, Inside could only have been designed by someone who hasn’t read Roland Barthes’s “The Death of the Author,” and hasn’t read Walter Benjamin’s “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” and hasn’t read T.S. Eliot’s “Tradition and the Individual Talent”—someone who hasn’t, in other words, engaged theoretically with what art is. And that, in turn, leads to the simple conclusion that on the level of its plot Inside is not trying to do what art does.

Good god this guy is snobbish.

Second, there’s still the meta-twist to consider: perhaps Inside is a game with both a text and a subtext. And perhaps a subtext can help the videogame industry evolve beyond the hyperviolence that is its womb and its crutch.

“Hyperviolent” is not exactly how I would describe Breakout or Super Mario Bros. Anyway, he then ponders the potential meaning of the evil scientists at the end of the game being stand-ins for the developers, and comes to the conclusion that...

The problem of games today is that their creators have not imagined any purpose for them greater than fun. There are exceptions to this, of course, but for the most part games equate escape with distraction—to be distracted is to be entertained, and it is good to be entertained.

Unlike the rest of popular media, of course.

The obligation of art, as Henry James described it, is to be interesting, and if you’re paying attention, that is to say, if you’re trying for more than distraction, then Inside begins to be interesting with its name, which stands in stark contrast to games like Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

I too enjoy criticizing games for being superficial based on their titles.

Then we get some final analysis, a quote from a Raymond Carver short story I read in high school and remember mostly as something my friends in English class found homoerotic subtext in, and the claim that the goal of art is a feeling of transcendental bliss:

The much remarked-upon narrator of Raymond Carver’s classic short story, “Cathedral,” experiences such a moment as the story climaxes with a blind man helping him draw a church. “My eyes were still closed,” the narrator says. “I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything.”

At its most ambitious, Inside aspires to a similar feeling. Escape in art that is not transcendence is cheap, and if you can climb beyond the foolish puzzles and the Easter eggs and the hidden meanings, you can feel, for a moment, that you are not alone on your sofa with your phone, playing a game; rather, you are somewhere else—somewhere grassy, bathed in warmth by a ray of sunlight falling from above.

And that’s nice and all but it feels like he didn’t really lead up to it.

Anyway, I spent way too much time picking through this but here we go. Final rating: 2/10, the next time you want to know if video games are art yet ask someone who actually plays them.

[butterflypov]

Hummingbird

Summary: Peter Parker falls for lab partner!reader when he notices her drawing a bird during class and turns to his pal Spider-Man to follow her to a cafe where she loves to draw and he loves to admire her

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: literally 1 curse word, all of it is just fluff

A/N: i didn’t proofread as usual so sorry if it’s complete shit and i apologize that literally every single one of my stories has ended the exact same i’m an awful writer sjksjsksjsjk btw when will Tom finally show us his new hair he’s making me so nervous uGH

Words: 2347 (srry if it drags on and is super boring)

It was a normal 3rd period in chemistry class as the teacher droned on about the names of certain elements of the periodic table.

Peter’s boredom level had surpassed extreme as his eyelids began to droop closed. He had been losing excessive amounts of sleep having to stay out until the late hours of night saving lives and stopping robberies. He was slowly starting to grow used to his sleep schedule though, sometimes too tired to slip off his Spider-Man suit when he snuck in through his window at three in the morning.

When the clouds in the sky unmasked the blinding sunshine showing through the classroom’s windows Peter’s eyes widened in a desperate attempt to stay awake. As he went to stretch he caught a glimpse at his lab partner, Y/N.

Her hair had fallen loose in her face as her mechanical pencil worked it’s magic on her piece of notebook paper.

Peter kept his gaze on her hands, watching her sketch out the details of a gorgeous bird. His heart seemed to warm up at her drawing, eyes switching to look closer at her face. Her eyes narrowed at her doodle, head resting in the palm of her hand lazily.

A tiny piece of a smile was snug comfortably in the corners of her mouth. She looked at peace, her eyes flicking to the nature outside every once in awhile. Chunks of sun radiated against the left side of her face, wedging themselves in between her eyelashes making her look velvety soft whenever she blinked.

Peter didn't realize that he was staring until the teacher called his name.

“Peter?” Mr. Smith mustered again and Peter’s head twisted in the direction of the teacher.

Everybody’s eyes, including Y/N’s, trailed to his figure, waiting for him to retort.

“Oh, uh, the equation to find the percent yield is laboratory yield over theoretical yield. One hundred is equal to the percent yield.” he replied, hoping his answer wasn't completely different then the question.

Mr. Smith turned his back to the class and began to write Peter’s phrase on the chalkboard. “That is correct.” he mustered, pressing the piece of chalk to the green surface on the wall.

Peter looked at Y/N again and she was back to pressing pencil to paper, peacefully sketching out the lines of her bird. He shook his head, blinking away his obsession with staring.

When the last period of the day ended and Peter was eager to sneak into his Spider-Man suit he decided to search for Y/N, hoping to walk her home or start a conversation about her drawings with her.

His eyes found her walking out of the doors while he was striding down the hall, people bumping in his way as he tried his best to catch up with her.

Stepping outside, looking left and right, his chest heaved out a big sigh at the realization of losing her. He had given up at his journey in finding her, choosing to just go to the alleyway to change instead.

After getting on his tight red and black clothing he went to locate more crimes and more people to teach a lesson, until when he spotted her figure walking down the street.

He shot a web to swing closer to her.

She reached a cafe, pulling the door open and stepping inside. Peter could see through the building with it’s clear windows as she greeted the cashier, telling him a few words before taking out her wallet and handing him a couple of dollars. Y/N picked a perfect seat in a booth where Peter could see her face perfectly but couldn’t exactly recognize the words on her phone screen even if he asked Karen to zoom in for him.

Y/N fished out her sketchbook, earbuds, pencils, and erasers from her backpack, setting them on the table. A waitress set a cup of what looked like coffee in front of Y/N and said a few more words to her before leaving.

Minutes had passed of Peter admiring her smile and draw, occasionally taking a sip of her drink.

“Karen, is it weird that I’m watching Y/N?” Peter asked his computerized companion, embarrassed of himself. Karen kept quiet for a couple of seconds before answering.

“Who is Y/N?” she questioned. Peter briefly chuckled. “Uh, well, she’s this girl who sits next to me in chemistry. She’s really pretty and nice and she can draw really well. We’re sort of friends I guess.” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Karen asked and Peter went into deep thought.

Did he?

The question never really popped up until now and he really had to think about it.

He liked the way she laughed whenever he told her a stupid science pun while they were supposed to be working on a project together. And he liked watching her concentrate so hard on an equation. For God’s sake the realization of him adoring her as she drew had just seemed to hit his brain.

“I mean,” he muttered. “now that you say something about it. I guess I do.”

A smirk was evident under his mask at his comprehension of his liking for Y/N. He really did like her and it was exciting to him that he could actually speak/had spoken to somebody he liked for once. Actual words and not gibberish.

It had become a daily occurrence for Y/N to go to the cafe everyday after school and work on her drawings. Peter or Spider-Man had seemed to unknowingly tag along with her, sitting on the fire escape of the apartment building across from the coffee shop, watching her doodle along while listening to her music and sipping on the exact same coffee she orders every time she walks in there.

Peter had perceived that Y/N was working on the same drawing whenever she would open her sketchbook and begin to scratch the paper with her pencil. He didn’t exactly know what the subject of her big piece of art was but he imagined it was another bird.

Every boring lecture in chemistry he would slyly look in the corner of his eye and see her drawing a bird in the corner of her worksheet.

Although each scribble was different. Sometimes it would be a bird drinking out of a bird bath or a bird soaring through the clouds.

Peter noticed that on rainy days she liked to draw hummingbirds. He didn’t have a reason for why she did but of course it didn’t really throw his train of thought off of it’s tracks.

The bell for the next class rang and Y/N routinely shoved her worksheet inside of her notebook and put it in her backpack. When she picked her backpack up though her sketchbook fell to the ground with a gentle thud. Peter’s hand landed on it first, picking it up, some of the pages brushing close to falling open. He did sneak a peek at some though, but wasn’t quick enough to recognize what they all were.

“Sorry about that.” she apologized with a giggle. His eyes met hers while her small smile stayed pasted on her face as he gave the book back to her. “It’s no problem.” he blessed.

“Thank you.” she mumbled. Her heart was beating out of her ears at the secret intimacy that they were both feeling for each other at the same time. She dropped it in her backpack, letting her eyes trail to the floor in bashfulness while tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

School ended the equivalent time as always and Peter was thrilled to change back into his alter-ego, anxious to watch Y/N continue to draw again.

Except when he swung to same old fire escape it came to his attention that she wasn’t there this time. She wasn’t waiting for her coffee or scrolling through her music library to find a new song like usual. She was nowhere to be seen.

Peter’s eyebrows turned down in confusion. He looked down the street. Nobody but regular pedestrians.

“Okay, Spider-Boy.” he heard somebody say. He turned to face them and there she was climbing out of the abandoned apartment building’s window onto the rusty metal below her feet.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Uh.” he stuttered nervously.  “Tell me why you’ve been following me for the past week?” she ordered, throwing her backpack to lay beside her legs. He cleared his throat, anxiety burning in his lungs. “What? I h-haven’t been following you?”

She rolled her eyes, a devious grin on her lips and her right eyebrow raised. “I’m not stupid,” she told, crossing her arms. “I know you come here and sit on the edge of this exact same fire escape and keep an eye on me like you’re part of the police.” She noticed a familiarity in his voice but ignored it like she didn’t really care.

Spider-Man sighed and waited awhile to answer her. “I-” he began but paused himself like he was almost scared to tell her the truth. “I like to watch you draw.” he said but faded his sentence out like he didn’t want her to hear it.

But she understood every word he said.

She swallowed the saliva in her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him. “You come here everyday….to watch me draw?” she repeated like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “Yeah.” he confirmed.

Her face kind of lit up at her awareness of his cute action. “Seriously?” she asked, a softer facial expression spread on her face now that she had thought it was quite adorable that he was fond of her drawings. “Mhm.” he murmured.

“That’s sweet,” she acknowledged. “how can you see what I’m drawing from all the way over here?”

He cackled. “I actually can’t really see what you’re drawing, you’re more of my attention most of the time.” he admitted, turning embarrassed. She smiled, her cheeks heating up and making sure to look everywhere but at him.

“Well do you at least want to look at some of my sketches?” she offered.

Peter smiled behind his red mask, happy to see this whole situation wasn’t turning into complete shit.

She took her sketchbook out of her backpack and gave it to him. What she didn’t want him to know was that she was practically handing over her whole life to him but for some odd reason she felt like she could trust him.

He flipped it open revealing all kinds of subjects and ideas. The pages were filled with fantastic pencil drawings of people, flowers, birds, and-

Peter ceased his fingers from turning the next page when his eyes settled on the lead marks.

It was a drawing of him.

“You stopped?” she recognized.

“W-who’s this?” he asked, in hopes to get her to drag on about what she knew about him.

She walked over to stand beside him and when she saw who he was talking about a smile spread across her face. “Oh, that’s Peter Parker,” she replied and giggled. “he’s the guy I like.”

Peter was left speechless.

She liked him back. She just admitted to liking him and she didn't even know it was him behind all of the red and black.

“This is an old drawing though,” she said and began to flip several pages until she reached the last page that was filled before the blank pages she hadn't filled yet. “I’ve been working on this for a couple of days.”

It was beautiful. The detail of his face and his hands were absolutely breathtaking and it looked so close to looking like an actual photograph instead of a drawing. He felt so in love with her. “I really love sketching out his eyes and his smile the most. I’m not sure why. I just think those are my favorite features about him I guess?” she explained.

“You know, I’ve actually heard a rumor that you two know each other?”

Spider-Man looked at her and really took in her beauty. The colors of orange and pink that mixed together from the sunset to made her skin glow, her eyes that twinkled when she looked at him, and the light breeze that blew her hair back. It all made her look perfect.

She was quite aware that he was adoring her once silence descended into the air. She didn't mind at all though, she actually liked it. It made her feel treasured.

“C-can I kiss you?” he asked politely, hands closing her book simultaneously.

Peter was definitely not used to being this confident but of course he didn't seem to care at the moment.

Y/N wasn't really taken back because for some reason she had been oddly enough waiting for him to make a move.

“Hm, now that requires revealing your identity Mr. Superhero, would you really want to do that?” she teased. Peter turned his body in her direction.

Peter felt the urge to do it, like he really did trust her, like he knew in his heart she wouldn't dare to tell a soul about his biggest secret.

“Can I trust you?” he asked like he needed confirmation for himself.

She looked away from him for a couple of seconds and then set her gaze back to it’s original spot. “You can trust me.” she promised, biting her bottom lip.

He grabbed the red material from the back of his head and yanked it forward, his hair flopping in his face.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't move at all.

She almost didn't feel surprised, like somehow she had known all along that it was him.

“Peter Parker,” she purred, moving his singular curl that had fallen out of place back to where it was. “I should’ve known.”

He grinned at her reaction, taking her chin between his fingers and leaning in, pressing a warm kiss to her lips.

[groundbreaking-science]

1-10 - Breaking Down the Power Level

From the start of my patchy teaching career, beginning as a brother then a parent, my general ethos towards explaining the world has been to never patronise. I have developed some semblance of self-awareness over the years and so may at times simplify or reign in tangents - not everyone needs to know the minutiae to gain a broad understanding of a topic. My aim though is to never shy away from trying to provide a full answer to a question posed, no matter the age or background of the poser. An earnest and enthusiastic question deserves a considered answer with all the nuance one’s expertise can provide in the situation. I trust those listening to instead communicate where clarification would be helpful, or sift through what they need in the moment and chew over the rest later.

In contrast, there’s a trend in wider media to cling to ‘consumers’ of scientific content by ratcheting up the the sensational, the over-simplified, the drama that may or may not be manufactured for entertainment. Narratives within popular science help guide and contain the message within (no one wants to be subjected to a list of facts, even regarding ki) but often the science is so watered down the only substance of the piece is the fluff. Those with a genuine palate for science (or history, or literature, or…) are left underwhelmed on repeated readings and sometimes even mistrusting of the expertise involved.

It is for those reasons I decided to include this section as a hat tip to the insatiably curious, though for those among you with little appetite for a smattering of mathematics, I first bring you a tangential, and completely true, offering in the form of a fish.

I have spoken frequently of a model for ki. By that I mean a story that explains the effects of ki we see using fundamental quantities. The story links cause and effect in the form of equations, transforming the qualitative to the quantitative.

The model presented here is not perfect. All models are an approximation to the truth and there are many simplifications (particularly in this version and I will highlight where), but broadly the model performs well and the limitations of the model are well defined. I trust you to take away what is most useful to you now, and I hope this treatment gives potential undergraduates a taster for some of the more theoretical aspects of a course on ki-use I hope will materialise in the near-future.

When in battle one question sits on the tip of everyone’s tongue: “What is the enemy’s power level?” This is proxy phrase to ask many questions at once. What is the opponent’s potential? How many people will be required to tackle them? How much strength should I use straight out of the gate? What is the risk to the local environment, the nearby populace, the planet? The highest power level will not always win a fight. Power level differences of an order of magnitude, even sometimes two, can be overcome with teamwork and sound strategy. Getting an early indication of the opponent’s location and power can give your team vital time to plan and distribute yourselves effectively.

As we discussed in a previous section, the idea of a power-level measuring device - the scouter - was first introduced to us by Freeza’s personal army and deconstructed by Bulma.

The original scouters performed perfectly well in the situation they were designed for, searching for clusters of life-forms with power levels of 0-2 (encompassing the vast majority of people in the Universe) to allow the possessors to commit mass murder extremely efficiently. The scouters were able to stretch beyond this range, reaching higher power levels of 5.3; any higher and the harmonic oscillator arrays constructed to respond to the vibrations in the ki field (with technology developed along a similar branch to Dr Gero’s) would break. Specifically: the atomic ‘pendulums’ of varied masses contained within ion traps would be kicked out of the holding magnetic fields and flung away into the rest of the structure, shorting the electronics and usually exploding the device. The designers believed the likelihood of any of Freeza’s forces  encountering someone that strong so low they didn’t deem it necessary to prioritise the scouter-wearer’s safety. Clearly Freeza’s true strength, peaking above a power level of eight at that time, was hidden from the vast majority of his forces.

The fully artificial scouters were not flexible enough to cope with everything life could throw at it. Life itself on the other hand has an amazing capacity to give as good as it gets. I can sense everything from tiny fogs of ki in less-than-clean water to the brightest kis in the Universe standing almost blindingly close, and I can do it all without shorting my own circuitry. Whilst the mechanical scouters have a range of 0 to 5.3, the newer versions developed on Earth can cope with -1 to 14, (or 0.1 to 100,000,000,000,000 unlogged). That is tested. Hypothetically they should remain accurate up to a power level of 17 but we never want to be in situation where we’re reading that. Our method’s downside is the loss of precision compared to the original scouter, which was able to differentiate just as well between power levels of 1 and 2 and 10,000 and 10,001. Our scouters do maintain a 0.1% precision however, which is usually sufficient. Anyone wanting finer precision to monitor and argue their progress needs another hobby.

Capsule Corp employees have for the most part stayed away from playing with the biophysics of life, knowing the trouble and potential backfire meddling can cause through the work of Dr Gero. What little research and development that has been done in this field has been led by Bulma and Mai through all above-board personal funding. The new scouters are a result of this off-piste research and utilise a genetic modification of bioluminescent bacteria found in a tropical fish.

The fish in question - the blue-finned angelfish - exclusively inhabits the coral reefs around one of the many South Sea archipelagos. They’re crepuscular feeders, making use of the changing light levels at dawn and dusk that other fish and invertebrates struggle to cope with. When hunting for prey like small fish and krill they spread into what can appear to be a dangerously loose shoal. What makes this strategy effective is the beautiful symbiotic relationship the fish has with a bacteria within the fish’s transparent skin along the fins and tail. The bacteria glows neon yellow using bioluminescence near low power levels (-2 to -1.5) and flickers in a predictable pattern with the ki signature, the wave of flickering allowing for the triangulation of distance. When the glow starts, the fish play a game of hot and cold until close enough to pinpoint their prey through smell. The now brighter glow brings the rest of the shoal to feed into the early night.

Why then are are these fish known as the blue-finned and not yellow-finned angelfish? Well, they are named as yellow locally, though zoologists from the mainland way-back-when never much listened to local expertise, routinely removing chosen specimens from their natural environment to study in the comfort of the lab. As the scientists approached the fish in the tank back home their fins glowed a bright blue and the fish reacted poorly, racing to escape. It transpires the bacteria can luminesce over two colours, yellow for prey and blue for predators - the latter covering intensities of 0.3-2. This range catches the bigger fish and reef sharks that home in on the yellow glow of a feeding shoal. When a wave of blue creeps across the shoal in the near-dark, the fish know to hide. It just so happens this range encompasses the scientists’ own power levels, too. To the scientists with clipboards then, these were only ever blue-finned glowing fish.

The locals know of the fish’s defence intimately and is a source of great amusement. There’s a shallow, natural harbour in one of the smaller islands that, very rarely, a large shoal of angelfish will chase prey into. The harbour is sealed and all the boats dragged onto the shore. A call is then sent to the other islands for an impromptu night-long festival - a spontaneous get-together and chance to catch-up. Traditionally, the arrival of the fish had been seen as a mixed omen, that bad luck is ongoing or shortly arriving. Assembling a group to challenge the fish twice-touched by a creator god (once for each colour) however will guide the selection of the warrior or leader to pull the islands through a time of strife.

The challenge is as follows. Representatives from each attending island volunteer to take on the fish. Their true reasons for participating are varied: trained warriors, children nearing adulthood, people looking to impress an onlooker they’re sweet on, older fishermen showing off their talent, the local clown putting on a show. Each representative is then painted over the course of the afternoon by friends and family with a glowing set of pigments (not made from the fish fins, I hasten to add). Some designs are beautifully intricate; most are messy, child-sized handprints. Everyone then waits for twilight with great anticipation.

The participants take their turn to wade in and try to catch a fish in the harbour with only a net - the great difficulty being of course that the fish will glow blue and alert the shoal to avoid the intruder. This leaves an ever-moving empty ring of water around the participant to flounder in, struggling to cast the net and maybe just reaching the shoal edge. The larger their genki, the wider that ring and the greater the challenge. The winner is decided by elected older folk, and is usually a combination of how fast a fish was caught and how much paint was left on the challenger’s body. About half of participants catch and release a fish, nearly everyone trips, and the spectators have a great time.

Nowadays the omens and winners are not taken seriously beyond passing on fantastical stories, spooking the children or for gaining bragging rights. Usually.

The year before the 28th World Martial Arts Tournament, a shoal made their way into the harbour. The residents of one of many islands answered the call, the group including the young Papayaman and his family. Their island hadn’t been doing so well in recent years; the Moon’s twice vanishing and reappearing act dampened the tides for a time and their delicate yellow mangrove trees took a hit. The entire food chain around the islands and reef was disrupted and the trees would take decades to recover. As the slow-growing tree bark is prized for its tannin, the island’s economy took a brutal hit, too. The residents, previously relatively comfortable, had eaten into their savings and were near the brink. Going to the festival was supposed to be a rare fun day out. As the eldest sibling at nine years old, the boy who would become Papayaman had already resolved to compete in the hope he would be worthy enough to help his family.

The evening went smoothly until the boy took the long walk down towards the water. As he hit the shoreline the fish retreated, that blue ring growing to taunt him, he believed. When in the water the scale of the challenge stretched before him. There was no way he would be able to throw the net that far out, let alone hold onto it to drag a fish back. He became more and more frustrated as his time and paint dwindled and his anger, something he rarely felt, rose… then burst. For a moment the entire bay was full of blue stars, lighting up the dusk. Then the fish bolted, some even jumping onto the shore in a frantic escape attempt, causing pandemonium amongst the younger children.

The boy did not catch a fish himself in the end. But there was no doubt about his potential throughout the archipelago, and he was brought into warrior training as soon as he returned home. He was then selected to attend the tournament on nearby Papaya Island to earn money for his village. Although he didn’t win, due to his efforts and subsequent training the island eventually did recover.

A number of years later the shoal returned and the now young man eventually found a way to catch that fish, finally marking (from his own perspective at least) his graduation from training with my father. And as they say, the rest is history.

My first encounter with the fish was a little more begrudging. I had just “moved” to East City for a postdoctoral position into a cosy office with two others funded on the same grant. We got on well and I was hoping for a relatively relaxing couple of years. That was thrown out the window within the first month when the zebrafish aficionados in the labs two floors below decided to branch out, nabbing a number of blue-finned angelfish to get to grips with the bioluminescence. They’d hypothesised the glowing bacteria were responding to the fish’s excitement and stress levels (apologies for not correcting you sooner) and were planning on running behavioural studies.

Those fish hated me. Even at that distance, my natural aura was just the right strength to set them off. No one could figured out why the fish were constantly stressed during lab hours, until of course the news reached our office and I put two and two together. My chronically guilty self had the most fun five months suppressing my genki at work until the lab moved from data collection to analysis and the fish returned home. Still, I’m grateful I got to peruse the results from the bacterial DNA sequencing. I relayed the gist to Bulma and she was able to isolate, then modify, the particular colour and ki range the bacteria glowed at. I’ve contacted the old lab members for co-authorship on this new work. I hope they’re not too mad.

The new scouters use these modified bacteria to read power levels and ki signatures. Stacked into mini vials filled with agar, the bacteria respond to ki much like cone cells in the eye respond to light wavelengths. The spectrum of light emitted by the bacteria indicate the intensity of ki hitting the scouter, and the specific pulsing is monitored and decomposed to identify ki signatures - much like instruments can be isolated from a song. With at least two detector packs and accelerometers to track the movement of the wearer, ki signatures can be triangulated and located. A simple pair of glasses (less conspicuous than the original scouters) can be used display results - one lens for a simple overlay or both for a full 3D effect. The isolation isn’t fantastic at a distance as the baseline separation between the detectors isn’t that great, but in relatively close quarters they work perfectly. Better yet are the systems Mai built into the jet flier and jeep windshield that give a heads-up display of the scene for both the driver and passenger. Due to “popular” demand there is a smartphone app, though sadly the hardware is not included.

All in all we’re pretty well-equipped to quantify overall power level. The measure was rendered completely useless by Earth’s martial artists, however. As soon as Freeza’s army found we could suppress our ki and therefore their scouters were unable to accurately predict any form of maximal potential, the tech was discarded. With the new scouters, getting beyond that one measure to find all the components - genki boosts, yuuki, shouki, the base power, flow suppressions, effort - is entirely possible and we can fully model a person’s ki-use and potential. The equations for the model (omitting the calculus) are as follows. 

The overall power P (without being logged) can be defined as the total energy E_T divided by the time interval t, or

We know the total energy can be expressed as

Or, as the sum of energy derived from the field (E_F) and what is remaining of genki energy E_G,rem. This can be substituted into the first equation to form

Genki energy E_G is divided into two parts: the genki that is amplified (E_G,amp) and the remaining genki (E_G,rem), so the above is expanded to

From section 1-9 we know E_G,amp can be expressed with the fraction of genki chosen to be converted from genki to field, f_GF. Substituting for E_G,rem we get

Recall also from that section E_F is a function of E_G,amp, the converted fraction fGF and the efficiency of amplification from genki to field, a_GF,

Substituting through we get

And then simplified down:

Let’s take stock here. We’ve been able to break down the power level into a number of base stats - the amplification, the fraction converted and genki energy. As a sanity check here, if the amplification of genki (a_GF) is less than 1 this will lead to that central bracket becoming negative and the entire combined power level less than if it were from genki alone. This correctly mimics the disappointing early stages of learning to amplify genki, where you get less out than you put in. You will need to persevere!

We can further break down the genki energy into the flow rate of particles from the centre Q and the average charge per particle, q.

We use the average charge rather than an exact value due to the slight variation genki charge can possess, the variation of which is mirrored in the colour spectrum of the aura. In extreme cases (like the kaioken with a double peak in section 1-8) the two averages can be noted and incorporated in a full treatment. The assumption of only one smooth peak and therefore one mean is usually made.

From section 1-8 we also know that the flow Q is the flux Phi_p multiplied by the surface area A. This is simplified. The flux measured can be directionally dependent if the ki-user is focusing down an attack for example. For the most part though, the aura is isotropic (the same in all directions). In reality the calculation should be a closed integral over the centre surface, modelled as a sphere.This then all ties together as

and substituting in

The power level is not a static value. The surface area A can change with transformation or suppression, as can the average charge q. Both of these quantities are defined with dynamic variables. Remember from section 1-9 that yuuki (y, courage) can affect these manipulations of surface area and charge,

And

where A is the surface area at rest, q the average charge at rest, and f refers to the resultant fractional change the ki-user is affecting. e is the effort assigned to perform these changes. Theta refers to all the parameters needed to define the function translating effort and yuuki into that fractional change. From section 1-8 we know most ki-users step up in genki using those harmonically defined troughs of required effort and sit at one level rather than hovering in tricky spots. Yuuki modifies these curves by raising them, meaning the ki-user requires more effort to reach the same desired fractional change. Some levels even become ‘locked out’ entirely. These functions take the same wavey and upwards shape for everyone, though the actual width, height and ramp up of effort required will change between ki-users. Whilst these functions are complicated, a good approximation can be made with a relatively small number of parameters. Explicitly defining those functions is beyond the scope of this book, but suffice to say the parameters for those functions can be thought of as base stats, too.

Similar to yuuki, shouki (s,strength of will) feeds into the efficiency of conversion between genki and field energy in a similar fashion -

Where a_GF,0 is ones go-to conversion rate. Whereas yuuki affected the ki-users ability to change from natural outputs, in this case we do not perform any amplification naturally (though we have a habitual value) so shouki affects the ki-user’s ability to amplify genki at all - if shouki is 0, no amount of assigned effort will amplify genki.

There is an additional constraint on these values. One of course only has a limited amount of effort to give. Some must go into general thought and movement, so we can surmise

Knowing some manipulations of flow, charge and amplification would be downright impossible, this one inequality can help constrain the rest of the parameters considerably.

In full then, one rearranged form of the equation for a ki-user’s power level (omitting some nuances for legibility) is

Putting this all together, we have a number of default ‘base stats’ - A_0, q_0, a_GF,0 and Phi_p (along with the effort to flow rate, effort to genki charge and effort to amplification functions defined with θs) and the dynamic stats y, s, e_A, e_(A_GF)  and e_q. From these there are a number of derived stats like f_GF, f_q, f_(a_GF), Q, q and the most useful split of power level, E_G and E_F .

Given some loose assumptions and probabilities assigned to each of these variables - so-called priors that were discussed in section 1-3 - one can monitor a changing power level and narrow down these assumptions using increasing evidence as time passes to give parameter estimates.

What kind of priors? We know some states of particle flow and genki charge are difficult to reach due to the harmonics inherent in the process, and so ki-users are going to avoid particular power levels due to the increase in effort required to hold them. We can assume ki-users will default to a habitual level of genki amplification. Flow rate will never increase above base without particular techniques like transformation. Charge never drops below the default level unless the flow rate is unnaturally high or the ki-user is exhausted. All of these assumptions can be programmed into the model as prior assumptions.

One must be careful with priors to never attribute zero probability to a possibility otherwise that one-in-a-million chance will never appear in the probable results in the updating model. I could assume that no one with a Earthling appearance could have a power-level above 2, for example. If I turn these assumption on my Uncle Krillin the model will give the best answer it can, maybe trying to say that he has a very efficient genki to field conversion rate to compensate for the lack of flexibility in the model. Instead, by allowing some very small, highly unlikely chance for an Earthling to have such a high natural power level, the updated prior will be pulled to this region with every new data point, showing the unlikely to be more and more possible.

When encountering odd enemies one may ‘widen the priors’ to encompass highly unlikely scenarios like godly-powered Earthlings. ‘Flattening the priors’ means allowing all possible scenarios. Whilst that sounds like the best idea, flattening leads to a large number of possible solutions when you know some combination of base stats are more likely to occur than others. Choosing priors for any kind of succession analysis is an art form in itself.

There can be a lot of information and possibilities to process when building up a picture of a ki-user, but with a careful set of tasks to perform in a calm environment, someone’s base stats at least can be obtained and updated on a semi-regular basis. This narrows down the parameter space before entering battle considerably, reducing the uncertainty when finding the dynamic variables. Some tasks include running up and down ki output from fully suppressed to maximum, or how quickly one can amplify a set amount of genki. For new enemies the scouter has to work overtime, but with every second of new information our intel improves considerably. Even if all the enemies’ parameters haven’t been constrained, the more varied their attacks and strategy the faster we can build up a picture to start answering key questions such as whether the enemy is holding back their strength.

For our team, Mai is able to feed us updates about each other’s status, allowing us to adjust the plan should someone be running low and too proud to admit it, or the enemy be surprisingly resilient. For all the rudimentary single word or single image telepathy usually thrown around the field,hearing an articulate voice in your ear confirming that you’re tired  or Auntie Bulma yelling to calm down should the panic be setting in can be very disconcerting. I refer to ‘us’; I’m never very careful with the tiny earpiece and I blow it within minutes. As much as the data intrigues me I’m far too used to running from my own observations. I’m not the only one to have been on the sharp end of a scolding, the earpieces are notoriously difficult to keep intact. Pan has the longest survival time of forty-five minutes and even that’s contested as for the first half an hour she was deliberately suppressing as a feint.

The scouters are useful in the moment and for review, but their most interesting day-to-day function is how the software can track improvement. This of course leads to competition. Endless competition. From conversations I’ve overheard, the moment one of the kids feels they’ve improved the scouters are out. There are often disputes because someone is 'using the scouter wrong’ and Mai is dragged in to adjudicate or fix what turns out to be perfectly functional hardware… Bulma put her foot down very quickly on getting drawn into these arguments. Even the old guard cannot contain their curiosity and will play with them at parties for old times’ sake.

Realistically though, the live-feed technology is more a gimmick for us. We know each other well enough and are sadly so experienced that our gut reactions, whilst not quantifiable, are usually correct. In actuality, the technology as a whole continues to be developed for future use. It would be well-suited for personal status trackers across a large group to be fed back to a control hub, or to help tailor training for new ki-users to maximise their efforts.

“New ki-users”. For those who haven’t flicked to later chapters that phrase must be torture to read right now. I understand. This section now closes the ‘brief’ chapter on the theoretical framework behind ki and we will now move onto the practical elements. You can breathe. Speaking of, if you have been working on those centring exercises I’d hope you’d have found your centre by now, have fantastic posture and felt the first hints of the natural flow of genki with your breath. This is preparation that will, in the coming chapter, pay dividends.

Ah. During this chapter I did promise you a particular story. I hadn’t forgotten, nor have I left it deliberately late to tease. I wanted to put myself, friends and family in a wider context before tackling it lest there is any misunderstanding after. I also wanted to put the story front and centre in the textbook chapter I believe will be the most read because of the tale’s significance - not just to world history or tangentially to ki but to me.  

The story’s about the Cell Games, and how I came to be that little boy on the hill.

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[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Time, space, body, and writing: power and care

Hey @mittensmorgul and everyone else, we need to talk about the theme of time in this season - I think it’s one of the biggest themes that have been brought along during the season so far, and in First Blood, imo, it has become even more evident.

There’s the obvious past/present dynamic in regards to Mary, her life with John and her past as a hunter, Dean’s memories of her (and hey, we’re going to have an entire episode on the time of Dean’s memories... at least two episodes about Cas’ past, and possibly his memories of it specifically...) and in general the entire theme of the perception of the past vs reality of the present (reality/perception being one of the biggest themes that course though the entire show since the beginning, but the theme has had a shift: we started with Sam’s visions of the future, now we have gotten to the theme of one’s perception of the past, but I guess this could be matter for another post).

But we also have a subtler way time features in the season, less about the past and more about the present-future: we have Mary saying she needs time when she decides to be on her own, Sam saying families sometimes do better after some time apart when he’s discussing it with Dean, agent Camp (the older prison guy in First Blood, I had to look his name up, I missed it in the episode lol) saying that it’s a matter of time before Dean and Sam will crack with the isolation, Dean keeping track of time with the incisions on the wall to count the passing of the days...

Speaking of the incisions, I think it’s relevant that Sam is seen coping through physical exercise, i.e. relying on body, while Dean does that though the keeping track of the days, i.e. relying on time. I believe Dean probably did some exercise during those six months or there’s no way he could do what he did after escaping if he went six months without any physical activity lol, but the show chooses to show Sam doing it, while Dean is shown making the incisions on the wall, and I believe that’s relevant. In fact, Dean is also shown shaving, which is also a way of coping connected to taking care of the body - in this case, appearance, which fits in the long theme of mirrors (also something to be talked about, as the mirror in the cell was very crappy and deformed the reflected image...).

So they use body and time in order to deal with being enclosed in such a small space. Space is also a thing in this season; I wrote something (or planned to? who knows at this point) about Mary saying she needs time and later Dean using the word space instead; Magda’s story was about being confined in a hidden space, the body of the ghost in The Foundry was hidden in an enclosed space inside the house... and of course the prison story, which is all about space, with the spacial confinement and the importance of the location of the prison itself.

Body, time and space are the dimensions studied by Michel Foucault in regards to the dynamics of power that take shape through the details - what he calls microphysics of power. To keep it short and simple, how do schools, prisons, hospitals etc work? Through a series of apparently small dispositions in the organization of time and space and the management of the bodies of the people in there. Your body is kept enclosed in a very defined space (the school desk, the cell, the hospital room) and your time is precisely organized (classes, management of activities in a prison, schedule of exams and tests in a hospital). All of these things seem innocent enough, but together they create a system that places you inside a huge mechanism that wields power over you.

It’s not just about institutions; the way all the spaces around us, the way our time is articulated, pretty much everything about our bodies (as feminist, queer, disabled theories well explain) conveys some kind of power dynamic. It’s not a coincidence that marginalized groups have a long (and not over) history related to institutions like hospitals, psychiatric institutions, and prisons (the lines between which are not always so clear, because a lot of principles behind their functioning are the same) in addition to discrimination and issues in the school system: modern Western society has invented those institutions as mechanisms of power through normalization: schools teach the same things to everyone, hospitals cure you so you become healthy - aka “normal” again, prisons are for criminals, aka people who are not normal (what’s criminal in modern Western society? ...yeah.)

And the normal, of course is also one of the biggest themes of the entire show, together with its twin concept, the natural. But I don’t want to digress too much.

Ah, I should probably mention that Michel Foucault was a gay man. (It probably doesn’t come as much as a surprise, right?) He was extremely politically active on a lot of the fronts of the social fights of the 70s, from psychiatry to racism, and his work contributed to push towards reformations in fields like the prison system. His work is still influencing feminist theories, queer theories, and a lot of other fields, and it keeps being a fertile ground for new developments!

I’m not saying Dabb has Foucault’s philosophy in mind, but I’m not saying he doesn’t.

(In case you’re wondering, Foucault caught AIDS while frequenting BDSM bathhouses in San Francisco and passed away in 1984. He had a very good time, though.)

This post got a lot longer than intended. Actually I didn’t even mean to talk about Foucault when I started. What happened.

Anyway. Let’s get back to Supernatural, kind of.

The hold of the power dynamics of society is strong and we can’t think of just get free of them with a snap of our fingers, but Foucault proposes strategies to get a little free of it as individuals (I’m not explaining it very well but I’m starting to run out of brainpower sorry).

Basically, what Foucault proposes as a strategy against society’s crap is what he calls care, i.e. a work for the improvement of the self - it’s a complex topic and if someone is interested I could elaborate on it some other time, but the aspect of this theme in Foucault that I believe is most interesting for this kind of analysis is the important Foucault places on writing as a technique for the care of the self.

Of course writing is one of the big themes of the show. Chuck/God as a writer, Supernatural books, tablets, Metatron’s new scripts... we know how the thing goes. Now, this season has placed much focus on the written work of the Winchester family par excellence, John’s journal, the word of the “god” of the family, the ripping of whose “script” (his conditioning) is pretty much Dean’s story in the show (with a side of Sam’s but for different reasons, c’mon we know what Dean’s story is about).

And now we’ve had a new character coded in a way that connects him to Metatron as “script writer”. Mick’s “let me paint a picture” speech is directed in the same way as Metatron’s “what gives the story meaning” speech (both technically speeches to a character but framed as a speech to the audience in a super hyper meta operation), and of course they both use a typewriter.

So we can deduce that Dabb has also placed his own stand-in character in the show, after Kripke’s God and Carver’s Metatron (with Robbie Thompson’s masterful contribution especially in connecting Carver’s narrative with Kripke’s God). It sure is soon to see how exactly Mick will work as the current showrunner’s meta character, but I am pretty sure 12x09 establishes him as it (him or the administrative/strategist/theoretical side of the British Men of Letters in general, i.e. the people who write - literally or in the sense of giving directions and establishing principles and lines of conduct). It’s likely that in this case Dabb’s stand-in will be some sort of anti-author, but again it’s too soon to make statements.

So, back to Foucault, writing as care, i.e. improvement of the self with the objective of happiness, i.e. creating sense/meaning. Supernatural’s meta undercurrent has been about meaning - Metatron’s experiments with storytelling, the author’s approval of transformative work in Fan Fiction, the confrontation between Chuck and Metatron. John’s journal has also been about meaning, the meaning of Dean’s self, Sam’s self, now Mary’s self (and of course their selves in relation to one another, because self is constructed via interpersonal dynamics). The apocalypse has been about Team Free Will rejecting a pre-made meaning that others wanted to impose on them; the tablets have all been smashed (by Cas, the character that maybe more than anyone has been looking for a sense of self). Hell, every piece of writing has been important, from Dean’s farewell letter when he planned to say yes to Michael to his note to Sam after becoming a demon... and recently even texts, with emphasis on the fact that Cas has learnt making them last season, and now Mary has. Writing is a theme we should also think about.

This post has probably gotten long enough and it’s almost midnight so I’ll just finish it by suggesting to collectively look into this themes; power (and resistance - power and resistance are two sides of the same coin, one isn’t without the other and one is where the other is) through the management of body, time and space, and resistance in the form of care (as seeking of sense/meaning) through writing.